


take me home to my heart

by renrenners



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Childhood Friends, Galra Keith, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Minor Character Death, Prince Shiro, Sheith Big Bang 2018, canon-typical Shiro abuse, except only one of them remembers they were childhood friends oops, like super minor, slight Plance, the childhood friends turned arranged marriage fic that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-08 18:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renrenners/pseuds/renrenners
Summary: Seven year old Keith would have killed to live in this moment, to be mere minutes away from wedding his best friend. Even as the war had escalated he had still occasionally dreamed of such a future, but he had never imagined that it would be like this. That Takashi — no,Shiro— would be nothing more than a stranger forced into a marriage that he didn’t want. It didn’t matter how much Keith had longed for it, not when the feeling wasn’t mutual.—After nearly a decade and a half of war between their neighboring kingdoms, Shirai, Gal and Altea seek to finally establish peace amongst themselves. Fourteen years is a long time, however, and the fastest way to dispel any lingering hostilities is with a union between the royal families themselves. It should be easy enough; after all, Prince Takashi of Shirai and Lord Yorak of Gal were close friends before the war.If only Takashi remembered that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever attempt at a Big Bang and hoo boy was it an adventure! 
> 
> I was fortunate enough to be paired with TWO wonderful artists for this event, [baedelus](https://twitter.com/baedelus) and [brighteststarus](https://brighteststarus.tumblr.com/) who were both wonderfully patient with me and my slow ass writing. You can find brighteststarus’ art [here](https://twitter.com/brighteststarus/status/1039525747520663552) or [here](https://brighteststarus.tumblr.com/post/177985839020/so-heres-my-second-sheithbigbang-with-the) and baedelus' art [here](https://https://twitter.com/baedelus/status/1039604610292314112)! Please go give them lots of love because they 1000% deserve it!
> 
> Title and lyrics from Trading Yesterday's [Shattered](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hqW4odgkyo) which I listened to approximately 500 times while writing this.

_—_

_And I've lost who I am, and I can't understand_  
_Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love_

—

Takashi swings his legs back and forth absently, the heels of his boots thudding against the wooden seat of the carriage in a steady beat. The idea of taking a trip to a neighboring country had sounded exciting when his father had first proposed it, but after two days stuck in the confines of too small carriage the novelty had long since worn off. The summer sun was relentless and it was sweltering inside the carriage as a result. As much as Takashi loved his father and his brother, the heat —plus the close quarters— had long since left him wanting to be anywhere but here.

He leaned his head back until it thunked against the seat and let out an exaggerated groan. When that didn’t so much as get a glance from his father, seated on the bench opposite, Takashi scowled, “This is dumb. We’re just kids, why do we gotta meet King Zarkon?”

“We’ve gone over this, Takashi.” King Shiki didn’t so much as glance up from his book, wetting his thumb to turn the page before continuing, “It will do you boys good to have some responsibility rather than running wild like animals. Besides, it is never too early to start making relationships. The crown prince is the same age as you boys, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.” It was only then that he looked up at his sons, meeting Takashi’s eyes first before moving to Ryou’s, “Am I understood?”

“Yes Father.” They responded in chorus.

“It shouldn’t be much longer now. We’ll be there by lunchtime.” With that, the King turned his attention back to his reading, and Takashi’s shoulders slumped. Ryou elbowed him in the side, making a face as he did.

The Galran castle was a looming castle on the southern border of the city, a stunning sight, if not for the fact that bored children don’t care about such things. Instead Ryou and Takashi were far more excited about finally being free of the carriage, leaping out almost as soon as it had come to a stop. There’s a pleasant breeze filling the castle’s courtyard, and though it’s still hot out it’s far preferable to the heat sink that was their ride.

There was a soldier waiting for them, a slender man with purple fur that eyes the rambunctious boys tediously before introducing himself to King Shiki. Throk leads them inside, the twin princes silenced only by a wordless look from their father. Instead they occupy themselves by making stupid faces at one another when their father can’t see, wholly uninterested in Throk’s lengthy explanation of the various parts of the castle they pass through.

Finally they come to a sitting room, Throk holding the door for them to enter before excusing himself with a bow. Shiki enters first, his face split into a grin at the sight of the man waiting inside, “Zarkon, my friend. It’s been too long.”

Zarkon is a beast of a man, towering more than a foot over his fellow king — and Shiki himself was not a short man. Takashi looks up at him in awe for a moment, before meeting his brother’s gaze again and then he struggles to swallow down a laugh when Ryou makes another face at him. Shiki was too busy greeting King Zarkon to notice, but the white haired boy behind the king did, shooting them a glare.

“And this is my son, Lotor.” King Zarkon says, the boy taking a step forward and giving them a stiff bow. From behind him Takashi could just barely make out another smaller form, clinging tightly to the back of Lotor’s shirt while trying to stay out of sight. Zarkon took notice, sighing almost imperceptibly, “As well as my nephew, Yorak. A maid will come shortly with your lunch, and there is a soldier stationed at the door. Should you need anything while we are gone then ask her. Shall we go, Shiki?”

“And this is my son, Lotor.” King Zarkon said, the boy taking a step forward and giving them a stiff bow. From behind him Takashi could just barely make out another smaller form, clinging tightly to the back of Lotor’s shirt while trying to stay out of sight. Zarkon took notice, sighing almost imperceptibly, “As well as my nephew, Yorak. A maid will come shortly with your lunch, and there is a soldier stationed at the door. Should you need anything while we are gone then ask her. Shall we go, Shiki?”

Shiki turned and leveled his sons with a stern stare, “Remember what we talked about earlier.” He gave each a pointed look before turning his gaze back to Zarkon, “You lead the way, my friend.”

The door to the study clicked shut behind the kings, leaving the four boys standing awkwardly in silence. It was Takashi who finally broke it, ever the amicable one as he walked up to Lotor and offered him a hand. “I’m Takashi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Lotor slowly turned his gaze down to look at the proffered hand before dragging it back up to Takashi’s face, “Your father just introduced you. I fail to see why we need to do it all again.”

Ryou snickered under his breath as Takashi was left staring at the foreign prince with something akin to bewilderment. His right arm dropped back down to his side limply, and after a moment more of stunned confusion he tried to peer around Lotor to look at the child hiding behind, “Well, what about you?”

The boy eyed him with a clear wariness, his deep blue eyes moving between Takashi and Ryou and when he finally speaks it’s with a waver in his voice, “Why’re there two of you?”

“We’re twins!” Takashi answered enthusiastically, “We’re the same, but different! Isn’t that cool, Yorak?”

“Keef.” The boy says back, almost defiantly as he slowly creeps out from behind his cousin, “My name’s Keef.”

“Yorak is his Galran name, Keith is his human name.” Lotor supplies, boredom seeping through his voice as he none too gently pushes Keith out from his hiding place before heading for the bookshelves, “Go play with them.”

Out in the open now, Keith fidgets nervously. His skin is no more purple than Takashi’s own, a stark contrast to all the other Galrans that they had met so far. The only non-human things about him were his pointed ears and the dark purple marks that run up both of his chubby cheeks. Beaming, Takashi squats down in front of him, “You have two names? That’s pretty cool! I only have one, but I like it so it’s okay.”

Keith smiles, tentative and sweet as he reaches for Takashi’s hand, “Wanna play, ‘kashi?”

There’s a collection of books left out on the low table that sits between the long sofa and the matching armchairs and Keith rummages through them before pulling one out. “This’s my fav’rite. Read it?”

The story is about a princess, who is captured by a dragon and then rescued by a knight. Takashi’s barely halfway through it before Keith is insisting that they act it out instead, which is how the kings find them almost an hour later — Princess Takashi, trapped inside a chair “tower”, evil dragon Ryou flapping his arms menacingly, and brave knight Keith, wielding an imaginary sword.

When it’s time for them to leave four days later, Keith bawls.

—

It’s not until a couple years later that Takashi has a chance to return, and he spends the entire ride to Gal bouncing with anticipation. Keith is waiting in the courtyard when they finally ride in, his face split in a grin. His hair is longer, tied back in a braid, and he looks every ounce as excited as Takashi does. He’s grown out of the chubby toddler that Takashi had remembered, now all spindly legs and bony arms.

“Takashi!” The boy yells, waving his arms in the air furiously, as though Takashi’s are anywhere else but on his friend. When Takashi stumbles from the carriage Keith tackles him immediately, a beaming smile lighting up his face. “Takashi I missed you!”

“I missed you too!” Takashi exclaims as he returns the hug enthusiastically, letting go only when Ryou starts pulling on his ear, “Ow! Ryou, what-”

“We’re supposed to go with Father, remember?” Ryou nods over his shoulder to where King Shiki is conversing with a Galran guard, “Work first, then play.”

Takashi frowned and when he looked back at Keith the boy’s shoulders were slumped, “We can catch up later, okay? Father says we’re old enough to sit in, but we’ll still have plenty of time to play afterwards.”

Keith nods glumly, watching them trail after King Shiki for a long moment before slinking off himself.

It’s dinnertime before he sees them again, and only after that that they’re allowed to go play and Keith treasures every second of it. Lotor, too, has become busier with responsibilities over the last year and even though Keith has tried to befriend some of the other children around the castle their parents were always been quick to separate them. He’s still young, but it’s getting increasingly harder not to notice the way that most Galrans, noble and common alike, look at him with distaste.

Though Keith had always known that he was different, thanks to his human father, as he grew older he wanted nothing more than to be treated like he was normal. It was why he had been so excited to hear that Takashi and Ryou would be coming back.

He tries not to cry, when the week is up and they have to leave again. He’s too old to cry, his mother says, so Keith bites back his tears as he buries his face in Takashi’s shirt and clings to the older boy for a long minute. There are a couple damp spots when he pulls away, but Takashi just smiles at him.

“We’ll be back soon, okay?”

—

Takashi drummed his fingers against his leg as he sat between Ryou and Lotor at a long table, their fathers at opposite ends and an assortment of Galran nobles seated around. This was his third visit to Gal, and while it was boring, incredibly so, but he’d long since reached an age where he knew better than to complain about it. All he had to do was sit through the meeting — a thrilling debate regarding exporting certain Galran crops and resources to Shirai — and as soon as it was done he could go play with Keith. 

They’d only had a little time together the night before, and Takashi and Ryou had been swept away by their father early the next morning for a series of meetings. This was a short trip, only a couple nights, and already most of it had been spent listening to stupid politics rather than playing with his friend. There was only one night left, and Takashi had barely even seen Keith.

He knows he’s supposed to be paying attention to the discussion around him, that his father will likely quiz them on everything they’d heard once they started back to Shirai in the morning, and Takashi does listen. To some of it. Enough to pass off, anyways, and he could always ask Ryou to fill in the gaps for him later. Currently they’ve been arguing over exporting some special kind of ore for over an hour and Takashi has long since tuned out.

In the end, the adults argue until dinner time, by which point Takashi is nearly nodding off. Ryou kicks him under the table when it’s finally time to go and Takashi nearly leaps from his seat.

Dinner is a loud affair, bustling with all the same nobles that had been present earlier and Keith is too far across the table for Takashi to talk to. He settles for making snarky remarks under his breath to Ryou, all while keeping an eye on his friend. Keith is quiet, picking at his food without eating much and, not for the first time, Takashi regrets not having time to spend with him. Their visits are few and far between, but his friendship with Keith is somehow different than the ones he has back home and he treasures their time together, would gladly hoard every minute they spend with one another.

Takashi watches as Keith leans to his left to whisper something to his mother, who looks at him for a long moment before saying something back. Keith nods, folds the napkin that had been on his lap and places it onto the table before quietly excusing himself. It’s hard to stay at the table after that, Takashi’s leg bouncing nervously as he stares at the now empty seat. He can’t help the way his mind races, flitting through dozens of things that could be wrong, each worse than the last.

Dinner drags on for what seems like hours, and by the time the dessert dishes have been cleared and the children excused Takashi is out of the room in a heartbeat.

It’s cold out in the garden when Takashi finally spots Keith, sitting alone amongst the roses in little more than a light tunic. The nights are growing ever colder as autumn turns to winter yet the chill doesn’t seem to bother the young Galran a bit. Keith is twirling a plucked bud between his fingers, staring it down as though it had insulted him and he looks up only when Takashi takes a seat beside him on the stone bench.

“You were quiet at dinner tonight.” Takashi says, and though Keith purses his lips he doesn’t speak, “Wanna talk about it?”

“I just… I wish you didn’t have to go.” Keith answers, barely more than a mumble, “I wish I could go with you. I don’t belong here.”

“What? Of course you do, Keith!” Takashi exclaims, louder than necessary, “This is your home.”

“That’s not what the court says.” Keith says, frowning at the flower in between his fingers as though it’s responsible, “Just because my dad’s not Galra.”

“Well screw what the court says. They’re just jealous.” Takashi says in a huff, wrapping an arm around Keith’s shoulder and pulling him close, “I bet they don’t even know you, so why should you even care what they think?”

The corners of Keith’s lips twitch upwards into a smile as he leans against his friend, basking in the warmth of him, “Thanks Kashi. Everything’s better when you’re here. I hate saying goodbye.”

“Once we grow up you can come live in Shirai with me.” Takashi continues, “We’ll be together all the time then! We’ll never have to say goodbye again.”

There’s a little sniffle from Keith, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

—

Keith keeps the promise close to his chest, the cadence of Takashi’s voice echoing in his mind whenever the whispers behind his back grow too loud. At night he imagines the future, a future free of scorn and contempt. A future with _Takashi_.

It’s a future he’ll never see. Queen Honerva had long been trying to incorporate Altean alchemy within the limited magical abilities of some Galra, to a small amount of success. No one had ever expected her experimentations to backfire, certainly not in any lethal kind of way, but they do. Gal’s queen passes slowly and painfully, the very magic she had always prided herself on slowly destroying her from the inside out.

Keith stands between his parents as the funeral precession approaches the pyre, looking at anything but the body draped in black. Lotor walks three steps behind, head held high for all of those watching, his face a mask of emotionlessness. It might fool the audience, but Keith knew better. The prince had loved Honerva more than anyone else and Keith’s grip on his own mother’s hand tightens instinctively.

King Zarkon’s descent is a rapid spiral, madness building off of his endless grief and it’s not long before he’s gathering all of the troops the country has to offer and ordering them to storm Altea’s border. Within a week and with three Altean towns burned to the ground, it’s all out war.

His father vanishes. His mother leaves during the dark of the night soon after, leaving only her beloved blade behind. Every semblance of peace that Keith had ever known was gone in a heartbeat and he understands none of it. Still, he clings to Takashi’s promise, the one thing he has left as everything else crumbles down around him.

Shirai sides with Altea, and everything falls apart.

—

  
Keith clings to the wall with his arms folded across his chest, all but invisible to the small gathering of generals and nobles in the room. He watches solemnly with the rest as the head priest lifts the Galran crown from its pitch black pillow and onto the head of the kneeling prince. Something akin to pride swells in Keith’s chest at the sight of the gleaming gold that he had always associated with his uncle now nestled in locks of white, and when Lotor rises to his feet he looks every inch the king he now was.

“My father’s death is a tragedy.” Lotor spoke, his eyes solemn as they scanned the room, “But it is a tragedy we will rise from, one that we will better ourselves with. This foolish war has gone on for long enough, and I will not allow our people to continue to sacrifice themselves to it. Unlike my father, I am not afraid to end it peacefully. I have already sent messengers to both Altea and Shirai with my proposition.”

“Your Highness,” Every gaze in the room snapped to General Prorok when he spoke, his jaw clenched as he addressed the new king, “Do not disgrace His Majesty King Zarkon like this. Victory is nearly ours and you would have us retreat? Have you forgotten what we are fighting for?”

Lotor’s face was blank and emotionless as he eyed the general up and down once before speaking, “We are fighting a losing war, General. A war spun up by nothing but grief and misunderstandings that has done nothing but cost us countless young lives. Should you, or anyone else here, take issue with my words, then you are free to leave your positions effective immediately. This war is ending and it is ending now. Any other objections?” The room was silent, and the slightest hint of a smile tilted on Lotor’s face, “That is all, then. Dismissed.”

Keith kept his post by the wall as the rest of the Galrans trickled slowly out of the room, many adorned with sour looks and whispered murmurs to each other. It wasn’t surprising, not when this war had been all any of them had lived and breathed for the past fourteen years. It’s not until the room has cleared of all the others that he turns his attention to Lotor, “You have a plan then?”

“I am offended that you would even ask me that.” Lotor huffs, arms folded across his chest, “When have you known me to not have a plan?”

“I can think of once or twice.” Keith drawls, pushing away from the wall to approach his cousin, “And considering how tight-lipped you were with the generals…”

“It doesn’t matter if they know, it has nothing to do with them.” Lotor answers curtly, and when his eyes meet Keith’s there’s an unfamiliar emotion in them, “Do you remember when we were young, when King Shiki would visit Father and he would bring his sons?” Keith’s breath caught in his throat but if Lotor noticed he didn’t acknowledge it, instead continuing on, “The younger, Ryou, is king now, following Shiki’s death last year. I sent a herald to their castle with my proposition for a peaceful end to all of this misery.”

The gears in Keith’s head were turning and yet for the life of him he couldn’t piece together what Lotor was trying to imply. It’s only once it becomes clear that Lotor is waiting for a response that he speaks, “And what, exactly, is your proposition?”

“A union between our countries.” Lotor answers, staring the younger straight in the eye, “I offered your hand as a symbol of our commitment towards forging a new peace. The choice of husband is up to him, but given your status in my court there’s really only one person he could feasibly pick.”

“Takashi.” The name comes out of him like a prayer, and the look that Lotor gives him is the only confirmation that Keith needs. It’s been so long since he had said it for another to hear, since it had been said outside the confines of his chambers and that dark, dank cell. Keith had barely even allowed himself to think about his old friend for so many years, not when there had been so much going on in his homeland. And yet now—

“You understand, of course.” Lotor prompts, and there was nothing Keith could do but nod, “Hopefully their response will be favorable, and should they accept I plan for us to leave for Shirai immediately. The sooner we can end my father’s foolish war the better. Gods only know how much it’s cost us.” Something in his gaze softens almost imperceptibly, “It will be a few days, at least. I will let you know once we have our answer.”

“Of course.” Keith answers, though with his mouth as dry as a desert it’s a surprise the words are even discernible.

The hallway is deserted when he steps out into it, and Keith can’t help but be thankful for it. There was no hiding the trembling of his hands as he walks the familiar path back to his personal chambers, not when the only image his mind could conjure up was the sickly pallor of Takashi’s face, the gruesome scars that marred his skin and the bloodied remains of his right arm. It's a memory that has haunted his dreams for nearly a year now, no matter how hard he tries to remember the happy, smiling Takashi of their childhood instead.

Still, there's a flutter of hope in his chest, that he'd really, _finally_ , get to leave his hated homeland for a life with his best friend. Takashi had promised, after all.

—

“Now remember, if you’re wielding a sword with both hands you always want to grip it with your dominant hand on top.” Metal fingers curled around the hilt of the broadsword, flesh ones just below it before the blade was given a slow slice down through the air, “It’s heavier than our usual swords, and it takes a lot of strength and practice to use it efficiently, but variety can save your life out on the battlefield. The more weapons you know how to wield, the better. Any questions?” A dozen hands were in the air before the words were even said, and the tip of the broadsword dug into the ground, “Harmin, you first.”

“Does that mean we’re learning more after this?” The brown haired boy asked eagerly, a grin spread across his freckled face, “Are we gonna learn archery? Please say yes Prince Shiro!”

Shiro chuckled, leaning against the hilt of his sword whose tip was now buried a couple inches into the dirt, “Yes, we will be learning archery as well. That’s what your brother specializes in, isn’t it?” Harmin nodded enthusiastically, “We’ll make sure that you have a lot to show him next time he comes home, alright?”

“Excuse me, Your Highness?” A meek voice sounds from the prince’s left side, a young page shuffling nervously from foot to foot. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but His Majesty has asked for you.”

“No need to apologize, thank you for letting me know.” Shiro turned back to his students, “We’ll end for today, then. I’ll see all of you here tomorrow.” Silver fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword beside him Shiro pulled it from the dirt with a single fluid motion. His eyes skimmed over the children still gathered in front of them, finally meeting the gaze of one of the older boys, “Markel, could you take this back to the armory? Carry it carefully, use both hands.”

The group dispersed quickly, nearly half of the children following Markel in awe towards the armory and Shiro couldn’t help the smile that rose to his face. They were younger than the army’s actual recruits, young enough that they shouldn’t even have to be worrying about going off to battle, but training them had given him something to do for the months following his rehabilitation. Ryou had vehemently rejected every request he had made to rejoin the forces at the front lines, even once his arm had adjusted to its prosthetic.

Perhaps today was the day he could finally convince him, Shiro thought ruefully as he walked the familiar halls of the castle. Ryou, it turned out, was as stubborn of a king as their father had been.

Shiro rapped his knuckled twice on the carved oak door to the king’s study, the room that had once been his father’s haven. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to walking into it and seeing Ryou behind the desk, but that was the exact sight that waited for him. His brother’s eyes are fixed firmly on a letter held tightly in his hands and they glance up only briefly at the intrusion.

“Takashi, good. Take a seat.” There was a strain in the young king’s voice as he spoke, a tension tight in his shoulders as he waited for Shiro to settle in the plush chair across the desk from him before gesturing to the paper he held, “We just received a messenger from Gal.”

“From Gal?” Shiro asked, his brow furrowing, “I can’t remember the last time Zarkon bothered to communicate with ink and paper.”

“That would be because it’s not from Zarkon. Prince Lotor has ascended to the throne. He wishes to end the war peacefully.” Ryou sets the letter down, his lips pursed. “I am inclined to agree, of course. This was a war between our fathers, not us. There are many that would disagree however, both on our side and theirs. Lotor has proposed a union between our families as a way to quell those doubts and I have every intention to accept.” Ryou paused, tension rolling off of him in waves as he searched for his next words, “You would have to do it, Takashi. I don’t want to do that to you, not after everything they’ve already done but-”

“But it’s that or war.” Shiro finished, earning a weak nod from his brother, “It’s alright, Ryou. I can do it. If it ends all of this then I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Takashi.” Ryou said, barely more than a whisper, “It’s time for us to end this.”

—

In childhood, Keith had never had the opportunity to visit the homeland of his foreign friends. He spent hours listening to Takashi describe it, picturing it in his head long after the older boy had gone. Unlike the harsher climate of Gal, a northern and mountainous region, Shirai primarily consisted of flatlands and forests

Now, though, he was free to look to his heart’s content. Their precession was large, spanning nearly half a mile with Lotor at it’s head and Keith a pace and a half behind him. It had been three days since they had left Gal, and only a couple hours more until they would reach Shirai’s capitol. On his own, Keith could have long since reached it — Red was the fastest mare he had ever met, and had an endurance that matched her rider’s — but given the ensemble of foot soldiers and caravans there was no choice but to wait out these last few long hours.

Keith sees the crowd before he sees the city’s gates, men, women and children all gathered on the sides of the roads with guarded faces. Not that he could blame them. It had been fourteen years since any Galra had approached the capitol peacefully, after all. Hushed murmurs spread between the citizens as they passed by, up to the soldiers waiting at the gates.

The road leading up to the castle held even more anxious spectators, lining the cobbled street all the way from the city’s gate to the castle itself. Most didn’t even bother trying to keep their voices down as they chattered to one another but Keith couldn’t hear through the heavy pounding no his heartbeat. Takashi was so close, almost within his reach for the first time in so long.

By the time they reached the castle’s gates there was a throng of people waiting and watching, held back off of the street only by the soldiers that lined the cobblestones. The gates themselves were already open and waiting, Lotor’s stallion the first to cross the threshold with Keith a pace behind. There’s an even bigger group waiting for them, rows of soldiers headed by none other than the King and Prince themselves and Keith feels his heart clench the moment he catches sight of Takashi. He stands tall and proud, a stark comparison to the bloodied, worn down man that Keith had all but carried from his uncle’s dungeons.

Keith wants to smile, to grin and jump from his horse right then and there and not waste so much as a second more not in Takashi’s arms. But there are too many eyes here, too many that would question such a reaction that Keith has no choice but to keep his face neutral. Lotor is the first to dismount, Keith a second behind him, hands trembling acutely as he passes Red’s reins to a waiting foot soldier. It’s an unfamiliar kind of torture, keeping his place just behind Lotor’s right shoulder as they approach the Shirogane twins while keeping emotion off of his face. Patience, Keith reminds himself. After this they’ll have all the time in the world.

“It is an honor, Your Majesty.” Lotor begins with a respectful bow, and despite protocol Keith can’t look at anything other than Takashi even as he mimics the gesture, “Thank you for having us.”

“Please, no need for such formalities.” King Ryou answers, “Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

Then, and only then, does Takashi look away from his brother and though he offers Keith a smile it is forced — faked. It lasts for no more than a second before he turns to enter the castle yet it’s more than enough to set off an uneasy feeling in Keith’s gut.

It’s not until they reach a small, private sitting room that the heavy silence is breached. As soon as the door clicks shut behind them Takashi is turning, left arm outstretched towards Keith and his smile is strained as he speaks, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Yorak.”

Suddenly there’s no air left in the room and it takes everything he has to reach out and accept the handshake. “Keith-” He finally blurts out, “Please, call me Keith. The pleasure’s all mine, Your Highness.”

Takashi smiles at him, but there’s no familiarity to it. It’s the smile one gives to a stranger and something in Keith breaks.

Lotor and Ryou have already started speaking and Takashi joins them easily. Keith should at least listen, knows he’s the lowest ranking person in the room and the last thing they need is to insult their hosts — his future family. Still, it’s hard to hear anything over the pounding pulse in his head.

In the end, Keith doesn’t hear a word of it.

—

Dinner is tense, to say the least. It’s a small affair, only the closest to both kingdoms at the table, but a fourteen year war doesn’t disappear just like that, regardless of the treaty drawn up that afternoon. King Ryou introduces his adviser and family, who sit across the table from the Galrans, and in turn Lotor introduces his own trusted generals. Conversation is stiff and disjointed, led primarily by the royals themselves with occasional commentary from Shirai’s Samuel Holt and Gal’s Axca. Keith doesn’t speak, keeps his eyes trained firmly down on his plate as he pushes his food around.

Takashi — no, _Shiro_ , chimes in here and there as the conversation wanders through all the various stages of small talk, his voice deep and rich and nothing like how Keith had remembered it. It serves as another reminder that they were no more than children the last time they’d been together in a non-hostile setting, that Shiro has lived more of his life without Keith than with him. That their friendship, as much as it had meant to Keith, had been forgettable to Shiro. How foolish of him to have thought otherwise.

After dessert is done, servants whisking away the empty plates, the small group begins to disperse. Keith is about to excuse himself when he feels the warm weight of a hand press down on his shoulder. For a single second he thinks that it’s Shiro standing beside him, but when he turns to face them it is Ryou that meets his gaze, “May I have a word, Lord Keith?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Keith answers with a polite bow of his head, and though Ryou smiles there is little warmth to it.

“Come with me, then. It won’t take long I promise.” Ryou heads for the door and Keith is left with little choice but to follow. The corridor outside of the private dining hall is bustling with servants who nod their respect towards their king as he passes, but their eyes are cold when they meet Keith’s. It wasn’t a look he was unfamiliar with, yet it still stung. He had hoped that perhaps he would leave those stares behind in Gal.

No words are exchanged as Ryou leads them down the hall to an empty room. It’s only once the door is shut behind them that Ryou speaks again, his voice low, “It truly is good to see you again Keith.” The smile that graces the king’s features is a tad more real than it had been just moments before yet Keith can only meet it with a frown.

“You remember me?” Keith asked, “But Taka- I mean, Prince Shiro-”

“There are some things that Takashi doesn’t remember.” Ryou answers, “His time as a prisoner of Gal took a heavy toll on him. By the time he returned home he had lost chunks of his memory, from not long before his capture all the way back to childhood. We had hoped that they would return with time, but so far he has recalled nothing.”

There’s a paleness to Keith’s face as realization sets in and though Ryou speaks gently it does nothing to assuage the ache in his heart, “He has no recollection of you Keith. And I know this may sound cruel, but I am going to have to ask you not to tell him. For his own sake. His mind blocked out those memories for a reason.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” They’re the same words he had spoken only moments ago yet now it’s like speaking though a mouth full of cotton.

—

By the time Shiro rises in the morning the joint wedding-peace negotiations are already underway. As soon as breakfast is over he finds himself swept up in the midst of it, running constantly from meeting to meeting with barely a moment to catch his breath in between. With the wedding in three days he had known that the entire castle would be in chaos but knowing it and living it were two entirely separate things.

Through it all he sees Keith only briefly, when the two were required to stand side by side for the sake of appearances. Words were very rarely exchanged, and those that were were short and curt. Keith was standoffish, a cold kind of polite that twisted something deep in Shiro’s chest that he can’t quite name. The marriage isn’t ideal, not by a long shot, but Shiro had hoped that they could at least have become friends.

It isn’t until the day before the wedding that Shiro sees his chance, after close to an hour of listening to the royal gardener and florist debate between different kinds of flowers for the ceremony. Keith seems as bored of the whole thing as he is, which isn’t as much of a comfort as Shiro had thought. When finally an agreement is made (with neither Shiro nor Keith’s input), they are at last set free from the abject torture.

Keith looks ready to bolt when Shiro claps a hand down on his shoulder, his eyes wide but he quickly schools his face into a more neutral expression. “Is there something I can do for you Your Highness?”

“Just Shiro is fine, Keith. Do you have a minute? I’d like a word with you.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, however, instead using his steady grip on Keith’s shoulder to steer them away from the once more bickering gardener and florist.

“Of course, Your Highness.” Keith answers, keeping his eyes trained in front of them rather than at the man by his side. It’s only once they reach a quiet alcove looking over the gardens that they stop, and though Shiro half expects his fiance to bolt the second he lifts his hand, Keith stays stiffly beside him.

“Please Keith, call me Shiro.” The prince says, “I know the circumstances of our union are not ideal, but I truly hope we can at least be friends.”

“I… I would like that. Shiro.” There’s a strange tone to Keith’s voice, but Shiro chooses to ignore it. Their friendship would take time, especially after so many years of war between their countries. He’d give Keith as much time as he needed.

Still, there was something that had been nagging at him since the day they had met. Something that said it wasn’t truly their first meeting. With Keith a little more opened up, he might as well ask, “Forgive me if this sounds strange, but… have we met before?”

Something shifts on Keith’s face, the slight hint of a smile retreating back to no more than the closed off, impassive stare that he’d worn since his arrival, “We have not. Excuse me, I must be going.” With only a quick bow Keith is quick to flit away, leaving behind a confused prince.

—

There’s no other opportunities to talk, not with the wedding on the horizon. Shiro rises before dawn to dress and meet with the foreign dignitaries as they arrive. While all of Gal’s guests had already been staying at the Shirai castle, the nobles from other neighboring countries, such as Altea, were not due to arrive until just before the wedding. It made for a long and exhausting morning, but Shiro never let his smile waver.

It’s not until there’s only an hour till the ceremony that Shiro is allowed to excuse himself, accompanied back to his quarters to don his ceremonial garb. Different from the metal plates he had grown used to shouldering during the war, his wedding attire was less practical and more for appearances than anything else. The fabric of his under robe was light and airy, a pristine white tucked into the solid black of his hakama. Another heavy robe was donned over top, all black except for the intricately detailed white lion that graced his back.

Traditional Shirai robes were cumbersome in comparison to the more practical attire that Shiro would normally wear, though whether it was the clothes themselves that were weighing down his shoulders or the ceremony that he was wearing them for he couldn’t be sure. This was for the good of his country, to end a war that had taken far too many lives, yet that didn’t stop the regret that had settled deep into the prince’s bones. His short conversation with Keith the day before had been running through his head on repeat, and with every repetition the biting cold in Keith’s voice grew harsher, until Shiro could come to no conclusion other than the most obvious one: Keith hated him.

It wasn’t as though Shiro had wanted this either, he couldn’t help but think bitterly. Keith wasn’t the only one about to commit to a lifetime with a stranger, wasn’t the only one giving up his entire life for a marriage wrought with politics instead of emotions. Shiro didn’t like this any more than Keith, but he’d thought they could, at the very least, be friends.

There was a knock on the heavy oak door to the room, bringing Shiro from his thoughts. “Come in.” Shiro called, adjusting the high collar of his robe before glancing over.

“Well look at you!” Matt crowed from the threshold, leaning against the doorframe as he eyed his friend up and down, “Pretty as a princess.”

“Shut up.” Shiro shot back, a smile on his lips. “I suppose they sent you to get me.”

“And you would be correct.” Matt pushed away from the door, “It’s wedding time.” Shiro made a gagging noise, sending his friend into peals of laughter, “Too late to get cold feet, man. The enemy’s already inside the castle.”

“Ryou would kill me.” Shiro said solemnly, turning back to the mirror to carefully place his circlet atop his head. “Guess I’d better get married, then.”

—

There’s a knot the size of a fist in Keith’s throat as waits at the entrance to the grand hall, just out of sight of the hundreds of people waiting within. Beside him Lotor speaks in a soft voice to one of his generals, though Keith pays the conversation no attention. He can’t hear anything over the erratic pounding of his heart, his blood pumping in equal parts excitement and terror.

Seven year old Keith would have killed to live in this moment, to be mere minutes away from wedding his best friend. Even as the war had escalated he had still occasionally dreamed of such a future, but he had never imagined that it would be like this. That Takashi — no, _Shiro_ — would be nothing more than a stranger forced into a marriage that he didn’t want. It didn’t matter how much Keith had longed for it, not when the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Your mother would be proud.” It’s Lotor who brings him from his thoughts, turned towards him with a look that Keith couldn’t quite place. They’ve never properly talked about Krolia and her disappearance all those years ago, but Keith suspects that Lotor knows exactly why she left — just as he knows who was responsible for the midnight jailbreak of Gal’s most valuable prisoner of war. “Come, it’s time.”

With a pit in his gut Keith nods, wordlessly following his cousin’s lead to the parted doors of the grand hall. Music starts, an unfamiliar melody but it was better than deafening silence as every eye turns back towards him. Lotor at his side, Keith walks, step after step, his gaze fixed firmly down at the platform at the end of the long aisle. Even from a distance Shiro looked stunning, clad in long flowing robes as opposed to the harsh lines of Keith’s formal armor. He is everything that Keith had never hoped to dream, and, at the same time, painfully not his.

The violins cut off only when Keith and Lotor reach the stage, Keith taking his place opposite of Shiro while Lotor and Ryou step forward to address the gathered audience. This close it was impossible to look anywhere but at his soon-to-be husband,

“Friends,” Ryou starts, his voice filling the space and the soft murmurs of the audience came to an abrupt stop. Every eye in the room was locked onto the kings who stood side by side, waiting with bated breath. “It is an honor to have all of you here today to finally announce the long awaited end of the war that has taken so much from all of us. Today, Shirai, Gal and Altea have gathered together for the first time in fourteen years, seeking a peace that has long eluded us.”

“As a symbol of devotion to that peace,” Lotor continues, “Shirai and Gal will be, in part, united today. My cousin, Lord Yorak, and Shirai’s Prince Takashi will be wed, our families becoming one. Together, may we usher in a renewed era of peace that had, until now, been forgotten.”

“Prince Takashi, your left hand.” The monk between them commands, loud enough for only them to hear and when Shiro complies, reaching out his hand, attention is turned to Keith, “Lord Yorak, your left hand.” Their palms touching and fingers outstretched, the priest wraps a white cord around the joined appendages before speaking again, this time for the entire hall to hear.

“Like the moon and the tides, and the King and Queen before you, you are intrinsically bound together — for now, and for eternity. Prince Takashi, do you take the man before you as your husband, for now and for eternity?”

“I do.” Shiro answers, voice deep and low and the words stir something in Keith. It’s a farce, he knows, but that doesn’t negate the pride that swells through him at the thought of being Takashi’s — forever.

“Lord Yorak, do you take the man before you as your husband, for now and for eternity?”

“I do.” The words come out breathless and rushed, as Keith’s eyes, which had been trained on their joined hands finally shifted upwards to his husband’s face. Though there is a smile on Shiro’s lips it doesn’t reach his eyes, doesn’t make his forehead crinkle or his cheeks stretch. It hurts more than Keith had thought and he drags his gaze away immediately.

“May the gods smile down on this blessed union!” The priest declares, his words immediately echoed by the crowd. Slowly the cord around their hands is unwound, and all too soon Shiro is withdrawing his own and Keith allows his to drop back to his side. He can still feel the weight and warmth of Shiro’s fingers, and it’s a feeling he savors.

There’s no time to think about it though, not as they’re whisked away to the dining hall, stopped every other second to smile and accept congratulations. Keith lets Shiro do most of the talking, a constant warmth against his left shoulder as they walk the hall. One conversation blends into the next, until the night is nothing but a blur of fake smiles and thanks, aching feet and the fading memory of Shiro’s hand on his.

By the time the castle’s bells are ringing midnight the party is in full swing. It’s also, via Shirai tradition, the time for the newlyweds to retire for the night. After one final round of thanking the guests, Shiro slips from the ballroom with Keith on his heels. The air between them is tense and awkward as they walk to their newly shared room, neither attempting to breach the silence. In the end they don’t exchange a single word — barely even look at each other — until the door to the bedchamber is shut behind them.

Discomfort is rolling off of Shiro in waves, his shoulders tensed and his back to his husband. It’s easier to beat him to the punch, to make the suggestion himself, so Keith blurts out, “I can sleep somewhere else. There must be an empty room somewhere, or I could take the floor-”

“No!” Shiro cuts in hastily, “No, that’s not necessary. We’re married now. We’ll be in each other’s space a lot from here on so it’s best to get used to it early. Besides, I could hardly make you sleep on the floor for the rest of our lives.” Keith tries to ignore how disheartened Shiro sounds, instead ducking his head in a brief nod.

Shiro keeps his back to him as he fiddles with the cord around the waist of his ceremonial robes and Keith takes that as his cue to leave. He grabs the first thing he sees from his closet before ducking into the adjoining washroom. It’s abundantly clear that Shiro desired his privacy and it’s only fair for Keith to respect that. After all, Shiro had married a total stranger. The thought sits bitter on his tongue as he strips from his light armor and underclothes, tossing the pieces to the floor carelessly. He had never cared for his Galran formal armor, hadn’t cared for his Galran _anything_. Even before the war, before his father’s death and his mother’s disappearance, he’d always been acutely aware that he was different from the rest of the royal court.

Takashi had been different. Takashi didn’t care that he was more human than Galra, had always just seen Keith as _Keith_.

Forgetting wasn’t Shiro’s fault, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

By the time Keith returns, Shiro is already tucked away in bed. _Their_ bed. Keith puts his clothes away quietly, keeping his steps as light as possible until he too is slipping between the soft sheets. He stares at the broad expanse of Shiro’s back for a long moment before rolling onto his other side, perched almost precariously on the edge of the bed.

The bed is more than large enough for the both of them, yet even with the wide gap between them Keith can feel the heat radiating from Shiro. It makes something ache deep inside of him as he closes his eyes.

He doesn’t sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super Sekrit Deleted Scene  
> Takashi: why aren't you purple?  
> Ryou: omg Takashi you can't just ask people why they're not purpler


	2. Chapter 2

_Without, love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on_  
_But I know, all I know, is that the end's beginning_

—

Breakfast the next morning is almost as grand as the reception had been the night before, guests from all nations seated together in the grand hall. The only difference, as far as Keith is aware, is that he actually gets to eat at this one. He’s seated at the head table beside his husband and across from Lotor, who, thankfully, is much better at making polite conversation than Keith had ever been. Shiro is talking softly with Princess Allura, loud enough for Keith to hear just bits and pieces.

His introduction to the Altean princess had been brief, no more than a few words during last night’s reception. It had been enough to learn that she and Shiro were good friends, going back as far as Keith’s own forgotten relationship with Shiro. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, one that Keith had never had time for, yet now he can’t help the way it twists in his gut. It’s not the princess’ fault that Shiro had forgotten him but not her, but that does little to ease his heart.

In the end Keith does little but listen, speaking only when needed and tuning out the rest.

When the meal’s over and servants are clearing the tables, the other guests are quick to start to excusing themselves. Lotor meets Keith’s eyes from across the table for the briefest of glances before turning back to King Ryou beside him, “Thank you for your hospitality, but we’ve got a long journey ahead of us and I had better get my people organized. Do you mind if I borrow Keith for a moment?”

“Go right ahead.” Ryou answers, and Keith nods his head in a bow before standing.

With a hand on his back, Lotor leads them from the great hall, and they stop only once they’re out of earshot, tucked away in the alcove of a window. Lotor’s mouth is pulled into a tight line, an all too familiar look since taking over his father’s country and his voice is terse to match, “Remember why you are here, Keith.” He says, low enough that even Keith has trouble hearing him, “Don’t fuck this up.”

“I know.” Keith answers, “Don’t worry about me.”

“Well someone has to.” There’s a lilt to the words, a hint of a smile on Lotor’s lips for the briefest of seconds before he’s slipping a hand into the pocket of his coat. It emerges clasped tightly around something round and smooth, which he presses into Keith’s hand, “Your wedding present.” Keith opens his hand, a small hand mirror glinting back at him, “I had Mother’s druids make a set — one for you, and one for me. If you need to reach me, use it. Understand?”

“I’m not a kid anymore, you know that, right?” Keith asked back with a slight smile, pocketing the mirror, “Thank you.”

Lotor watches him for a long moment, his expression unreadable until finally he reaches out to pull Keith into a tentative embrace. Affection had been looked down upon in Gal’s war addicted years, a sign of weakness that there was no time for in the midst of their pointless battles and Keith hadn’t realized how much he missed it until that moment. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Keith replies, his own arms wrapped around his cousin, “You too.”

—

Once the last of the delegations has been sent off the air grows a little lighter and Shiro can’t help but breath a sigh of relief. The day is already creeping into the afternoon, the summer sun beating down on them and as tempting as it is to lounge in it, there’s still far too much to do. Though there was a signed treaty and, with it, a long sought after peace, the after effects of years of war don’t go away so easily.

Shirai’s northern border met with Gal’s southwestern one, and it’s the towns and villages there that had suffered the most throughout the war. There was rebuilding needed throughout most of the land north of their capitol and now that any further destruction had finally been brought to an end it was the job of Shiro and his troops to begin those efforts. Some of his troops had already been sent to the furthest reaches of the kingdom, and now that his marriage — and, in accordance, the treaty — was in effect it was time for Shiro to join them with the rest of his men.

“You’re heading out in the morning?” Ryou asks from beside him, turning towards Shiro as he does.

Though it’s been nearly a year, it’s still hard to think of Ryou as the king. Their father’s silver crown rests neatly in the younger’s hair, glinting in the sun and, not for the first time, Shiro thinks that it suits him. For all that they had planned to be twin kings ruling side by side, fate had had other plans for them. There’s no resentment though, not so much as an ounce of ill will between them. Shiro was always more suited towards working with their troops over diplomatic affairs anyways.

“Yeah.” Shiro’s lips are pursed as they head back inside, “I feel bad about leaving Keith so soon, but I doubt he cares. He doesn’t like me much.”

“Give it time.” Ryou answers, clapping his brother on the back encouragingly, “We knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

—

Of everything Keith had ever imagined his new life in Shirai to be, boring hadn’t been one of them. There were plenty of things to do, so boredom shouldn’t have even been an option. Yet here he was, tucked away in an empty corner of the courtyard with his knife, practicing any and everything he could think of.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that people would be wary of him, all things considered. It just made trying to do anything around the castle tense and unbearably awkward. As a result, Keith had opted to find himself somewhere more private to spend his time. He’d spent the past few days holed away in the room he shared with Shiro, having it all to himself with his husband gone. There was only so much of that he could take, however, and after a failed morning in the library he had eventually migrated outside. The rose garden had seemed as good a place as any, completely devoid of any other life and sufficiently cut off from the courtyard that hopefully no one would find him.

His mother’s knife is light in his hand, so familiar that it was as much an extension of his arm as it was a weapon. When he was younger Keith had hated it, hadn’t been able to understand why it was the only thing his mother had left him with before vanishing in the night, only days after his father had done the same. It had been buried deep in a drawer for years, a painful memory he had no intentions of addressing. The war had been in full swing, there hadn’t been any time for things such as feelings. Keith buried his parents in his mind like he had the knife in his drawer and that was that.

He’s nineteen when he learns the truth, learns that his father’s name is among a long list of those executed for treason at the start of the war. That his mother, in grief and in rage, had defected from the castle with a handful of soldiers to form a rebellion within Gal itself. It’s less than a year after that that Keith joins them, his last desperate hope to free Takashi, but his mother is already long gone.

“Woah, is that luxite?” A voice asks from behind him, startling Keith from his thoughts and he stumbles out of his stance. By the time he regains his footing the intruder’s in front of him, a short haired girl who’s already taken his blade in her hands. The sun glints off of her glasses as she turns the blade over, “Man I’m so jealous. Do you think we could get some imported?”

Keith grabs the knife back from her, his eyes narrowed, “Don’t touch that!”

The girl doesn’t seem too bothered, leaning forward and holding Keith’s hands in her own as to keep looking over the blade, “It is luxite, though, right?”

“Will you stop that?” Keith asks, “Who even are you?”

“Ah, my bad.” She leans back on her heels, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she speaks and for the first time Keith realizes she’s dressed in oil-stained pants, “I’m Pidge, weaponry specialist. I was at your wedding.”

“Yeah, well, lots of people were at my wedding.” Keith grumbles under his breath, and when he sees her eyes still staring longingly at his blade he begrudgingly passes it to her, “You really shouldn’t just grab weapons out of people’s hands.”

Pidge snorts, already running her fingers along the tempered blade, “Or maybe you shouldn’t be waving around your weapon. Who even comes to the rose garden armed?”

“People who want to be alone?” He answers, but Pidge doesn’t seem to be listening.

“The craftsmanship on this is astonishing. I’ve seen Galran blades before, but this is something else entirely. Do you mind if I take a closer look at this?”

“It doesn’t leave my sight.”

“Well then you come too.” Pidge is walking away before the sentence is even done, the knife still clutched like a treasure in her hands and Keith can only hurry after her. He follows her halfway around the courtyard to a small stone cottage that appeared to be tacked onto one of the castle’s walls. It’s new — newer than the castle, at least — and Keith doesn’t have a chance to ask about it before Pidge is disappearing inside and he has no choice but to follow.

The room looks far larger than it did from outside, its walls lined with tools and weapons and various metal contraptions. There’s a large table at the center with several chairs around it, as well as a smaller work bench near the back. An almost musty smell fills the space, a strange mixture of wood and oil that would likely be overpowering were it not for the propped open windows.

Pidge has already settled herself at the main table when he finally drags his gaze back to her, Keith’s blade and several others in front of her. He recognizes some as Galran, had had some like them himself, but others are unfamiliar. “What is this place?” He asks finally.

“My workshop.” Pidge answers simply, as though the answer was obvious, “The royal smithery didn’t like that I was always hanging around, said I was “too little” and “in the way”. So my dad and King Shiki had this added on for me.”

“Who are you?”

She looks up at that, frowning, “Pidge. Weapons specialist. Pay attention, Keith. Besides, you’d know all of this if you actually came to family meals.”

“Family meals?” Pidge almost laughs at the look of pure confusion on Keith’s face and just barely manages to keep her own neutral.

“You know, when people eat together. Do they not do that in Gal?”

Keith sinks down into one of the other chairs, still staring at her almost incredulously, “No? I mean, we did before, but— Why would I eat with your family?”

“Because you’re married to Shiro?” Her brow creases, “Did he not tell you about them? You ate with us when you first got here.”

The question sends a stab through his heart, because no, Shiro hadn’t said anything about it. With Lotor and the rest of the Galrans gone Keith hadn’t returned to the small dining room that they had dined in before the wedding, hadn’t known that there would be anything there. He had taken his meals as whatever the kitchen had left over, eating it alone wherever was quiet.

His silence must speak volumes, because Pidge sounds infinitely less amused when she speaks, “He forgot. He always forgets. Honestly, I’m surprised he doesn’t forget his arm some days.” She sighs, “Dinner’s at 8, I expect to see you there.”

“Now, time to get down to business.” Pidge’s grin in back in a heartbeat as she turns back to the collection of blades laid across the table, “If you’ve got luxite, why aren’t all Galran blades made out of it? Half of these are Galran and yet yours is the only one made out of luxite.”

Thankful for the shift in conversation, Keith answers, “It’s not easy to mine, and Zarkon didn’t want to waste the resources on it during the war. I don’t think any new blades have been made with it in years, and the ones out there are those that belong to royals and nobles. Common soldiers get common blades.”

“The possibilities of it are endless.” Pidge murmurs, a spark in her eyes, “So many ideas that had to be scrapped because the metal was too heavy, luxite would make them all possible!” She gasps, looking up at Keith with a grin, “I could make Shiro a better arm!”

“You… made Shiro’s arm?” Keith asks, almost tentatively. It’s a topic he’s never dared to breach since his arrival; as grateful as he was to see that Shiro had gotten a fully functional right arm after everything he’d gone through in Gal’s dungeons, it’s hardly a topic of polite conversation for a stranger to bring up.

(It kills him, to think of himself as a stranger. But it’s the truth, and gods only know there was nothing more painful than the truth.)

Pidge beams, and she sounds particularly proud of herself as she exclaims “Damn right I did. Princess Allura supplied the magic that lets it function as a normal arm, but all of the mechanics was me. Best thing I’ve ever built, too.” She continues enthusiastically, spouting words that mean nothing to Keith as she explains how she had engineered the prosthetic to be removable while not sacrificing any of its alchemic usability, and the special locks that had been designed to keep it from detaching accidentally.

She says nothing about Shiro himself, only the arm, and for that Keith is silently grateful. The memory of what had been left of Shiro’s right arm was still painfully vivid in his mind, the bloodied and mangled pieces of flesh that had irreparably stained even the darkest piece of Keith’s clothes. He had spent long nights awake after that night, staring up at the ceiling of his bed chambers and hoping that Takashi had made it. That he hadn’t been too late.

Keith ends up hanging around the workshop a lot after that. Pidge is easy to talk to, but also knows the comfort of silence. She doesn’t eye him with distrust like many of the castle’s inhabitants do and for that, at least, he’s thankful. Through Pidge he meets Hunk, an apprentice blacksmith that spends much of his own free time in the workshop as well and truthfully Keith can’t remember the last time he had been this comfortable around other people.

They head there after breakfast most mornings, which Keith was thankful to learn was a low-key event. It’s no more than King Ryou and the Holts, and though Keith doesn’t join in the conversations it’s still surprisingly comfortable. Unlike many of the castle’s other inhabitants they don’t eye him with distrust at every available moment and it’s a much welcomed reprieve.

Pidge is already talking a mile a minute when they reach the shop one morning, her hands waving animatedly as she tries to explain her newest invention and while Keith has gotten better at understanding her babbling he’s still never quite sure what, exactly, she’s talking about. It’s almost endearing, though Keith’s not entirely sure how.

There are already voices coming from inside the workshop, one that Keith can easily recognize as Hunk, but the other unfamiliar. Judging from the way Pidge’s eyes light up behind her glasses, however, he’s fairly confident it’s not a stranger waiting for them. She’s darting inside in a flash, Keith following at a significantly less exuberant pace.

As expected, Hunk is already perched against his own work space an armor-clad soldier in front of him. Keith can’t make out much more than dark hair and skin before Pidge all but tackles the man, earning a significantly undignified yelp in the process.

“Pidge! A little warning next time would be nice!” He scolds, though he does nothing to push her away. Instead one of his arms coils around her waist and it’s at that exact moment that Keith realizes who, exactly, this newcomer is.

“What are you doing here, Lance?” Pidge asks, her face split in a grin, “I thought you weren’t back for another few days.”

“Well you know me,” Lance all but purrs, “Can’t keep my lady waiting.” It’s only then that he seems to realize the awkward fourth person in the room and his eyes narrow suspiciously, “Hey, who’s this? Who invited Mullet here?”

“‘Mullet’?” Keith echoes incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s Keith.” Pidge answers, gesturing towards the Galran, “Keith, this is Lance.”

“Yeah, but where did he come from?” Lance asks with a scowl, “He wasn’t here before.”

“Lance. Buddy.” Hunk supplies, “He’s Prince Shiro’s husband. You know, the one he married to end the war? It was kind of a really big deal.”

“What? I thought Prince Shiro was marrying some loser named Yorak.”

“That’s still me.” Keith says dryly, “Some loser named Yorak, at your service.”

Lance gapes at him for a long moment, and it’s Pidge that finally breaks the silence, “Shiro and his squadron have been gone almost a fortnight, and Keith doesn’t know anyone else so he’s been hanging around here. Having an extra pair of hands around doesn’t hurt.”

“ _I’m_ supposed to be your extra pair of hands!” Lance objects, “You can’t just go and _replace_ me!

"Don't be so dramatic." Pidge nudges him in the side, "Keith's a married man, after all." Lance grumbles something under his breath that Keith can't quite make out and, truthfully, he's not sure he cares. He's heard enough about Lance from Pidge and Hunk (as well as some stories from Sam and Colleen Holt) to know that Lance is all bark and no bite and, as brash and arrogant as he comes off, if Pidge and Hunk like him he can't be that bad.

It might be small, but Keith's world continues to grow.

—

There’s a weariness settled deep in Shiro’s bones as he rides back into town, accompanied by a small squadron of soldiers. It shouldn’t feel as exhausting as it does, given that they’d not been gone a week surveying the nearby towns for any leftover damage from the war. Shiro used to leave for months to the frontlines, yet now a mere week was almost too much. A painful reminder that, no matter how he had tried to convince himself, he was far from the man he’d been before his Galran captivity.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Shiro was glad that the farther reaches of the kingdom had been delegated to his highest ranking soldiers and their squads. The towns and villages closer to their border with Gal had been hit far harder than those near the capitol, and reconstructing everything that had been lost was an endeavor that would take at least a year. Given the ache embedded in every muscle from just a week of travel, he had no desire to be away from the castle for so long. Especially now that he had a husband waiting for him.

Shiro had had plenty of time to think while away, and his thoughts seemed to always come back to Keith. Despite having only met those few days before their wedding there was something achingly familiar about Keith. But Shiro held no memories about him, and Keith himself had insisted that they’d never met before. There was no reason to doubt the Galran’s claims, yet that did nothing to quell the nagging feeling that had taken up residence in Shiro’s brain.

Once the horses have been returned to the stablemaster and his men debriefed and released Shiro heads to the king’s study. There’s enough time before dinner that Ryou should still be there, barring any last minute business. Even if Ryou isn’t there, Shiro would hardly object to sitting in a comfortable chair in peaceful silence to wait for him.

His metal hand knocks on the study’s door at the same time as he calls out, “Ryou?” Silence is the only answer he receives so Shiro moves his hand to the doorknob, slowly turning the handle and pushing the door in. The room is empty, as expected, and he settles down in an armchair to wait. His arm aches where metal meets flesh and he absently reaches his other hand up to massage the sore area.

It’s not long before Ryou returns, dark eyebrows raising at the sight of his older brother all but passed out in his chair, “You okay there, Takashi?”

“Mm, just tired.” Shiro answers, “The trip took more out of me than I had expected.” It’s something he never would have admitted just a few weeks ago, when he’d still be desperately trying to prove that he was fit to rejoin the war. But there is no war now, and if someone has to see him at his weakest then he would pick no one but Ryou.

“I trust everything went alright?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll organize all my information tomorrow for you, but thankfully there’s little damage in the area. Matt and Rolo won’t be bringing back such good news from the northern borders, though.” Shiro trails off, mouth pinched in a tight line, “I need you to be honest with me.”

Ryou frowned, “Of course. What about?”

“Do I know Keith?” The question is breathy, uncertain. It’s a question that has been bothering him since they had met, despite Keith’s denial of it, “I feel like I’ve met him, before all of this, but I can’t place why.”

Ryou is quiet for a long moment, not quite making eye contact when he finally speaks, “Sometimes our minds play tricks on us. That’s probably what it is.”

“But-”

“We really should be headed to dinner, Takashi.” Ryou interrupts, offering a hand to help his brother up, “Katie’s really taken to Keith these past couple of weeks that you’ve been gone. I think it’s been good for him.”

“Good. That’s… good.” Shiro’s voice was soft as he stood, metal hand clasped with his brother’s flesh one for just a moment before he’s pulling it away. There’s a deep ache where the contraption meets what’s left of his arm, a painfully familiar one that always comes back to haunt him should he leave it attached for too long. Pidge would inevitably scold him for it, but even with the war officially over Shiro hadn’t dared to remove it while away from the castle. It was too much of a risk, no matter the pain that it brought.

They don’t speak on their way to the dining hall, instead both content to let the air between them to be filled with a comfortable silence. Dinner is as lively as an affair as it always was, though Shiro was more than content to let the others do the talking for him. Exhaustion has long since set in and it’s all he can do just to move his fork from his plate to his mouth. To his left Keith is equally quiet, though Shiro can feel the Galran’s gaze shifting to him every few minutes.

In the end, Shiro excuses himself early, bidding the group good night before wearily dragging himself back to his rooms.

A hot bath after dinner is always the best part of returning home, regardless of the length of the trip. For the first time since he had left Shiro had removed his prosthetic, letting the sore stump of his arm soak in the water for a much needed rest. As infinitely grateful as he was to Pidge and Allura for crafting him a completely functional arm, using it was a strain on his muscles that only grew worse the longer he wore it. Still, he didn’t dare to take it off outside of the castle, just in case something were to happen.

Shiro stays in the tub until the water was cool, and even then he has a hard time dragging himself out of it. All he wants is to sleep, and while there might have been a time he’d simply go to bed like this, he doesn’t sleep alone anymore. His arm complains as he reattaches his prosthetic, snapping the locks in place with an ease brought about by repetition.

Keith is already in bed by the time he comes out in his night clothes and, after blowing out the last couple of candles Shiro joins him. Thankfully he’s exhausted enough to pass out almost as soon as he hits the mattress, his back to Keith and his metal arm laying heavy on his side. He’s out like a light within seconds.

_Acridity hits him like a club, overpowering and overwhelming until there is no choice but to wrench his eyes open. But it’s not his bedchambers that blur into focus, not the familiar canopy above his bed or the large window beside it. No, it’s stone and hay and blood, sticky and scratchy and the smell—_

_It’s the roar of a crowd, calling for blood as he fights for his life. It’s the searing pain of a white hot blade cutting through flesh and bone until he’s screaming in agony. It’s the barbs and taunts as he’s thrown, bleeding from the stump that had once been his arm, into the dark despairs of a cell. It’s a voice, soft and familiar, calling his name. Takashi. Takashi._

“Takashi!” Gray eyes snap open in a heartbeat, his breath coming in heavy pants. There are hands on his shoulders, a figure crouched over him and he thrashes wildly, desperately, until his vision clears enough to meet the deep indigo eyes staring down at him and in a second he falls limp.

“Keith…” Shiro’s voice is rough, hoarse, and embarrassment washes over him like a wave. He sits up and Keith leans back, no longer quite so near but not far either, and Shiro can’t bring himself to look at him. “Sorry I woke you. That you had to see that.”

Keith reaches a hand out, brushing sweat damp hair from Shiro’s forehead as he shushes him softly, “It’s fine, Shiro. We’re a team now, remember? For now and for eternity. I know it’s not what you wanted, but I’m your husband and that’s a job I have every intention of taking seriously.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shiro murmurs, lifting his gaze, “It’s not like you wanted this either. To be stuck with-” he gestures down at himself, “with this. It’s not fair of me to ask you to deal with my issues.”

“I don’t mind.” Keith answers, and there’s something about the tone of it that makes Shiro’s heart stutter for a moment. In a single fluid motion Keith swings a leg over his husband to straddle his lap and places a gentle hand on the forearm of Shiro’s prosthetic, “May I?” Numbly, Shiro nods, and Keith wastes not even a second before running his touch up to where the cold metal met flesh, carefully thumbing open the locks that kept it in place. “Pidge was telling me all about it while you were gone.” Keith says, his voice still as low and tender as before as he carefully removes the prosthetic and sets it onto the bedside table, “It’s brilliant, but it’s really not healthy to sleep with it on.” The expression on Keith’s face is indiscernible in the darkness as he returns to his own side of the bed, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Silence reigns between them for a long moment, Shiro’s eyes half-lidded as he debates his answer. No one had been privy to his nightmares since he had been released from the infirmary following his return. There had been enough going on already, there was no way he could burden one of his friends with his lingering trauma as well. But Keith was here, soothing and calm, and it’s with a shuddering breath that Shiro finally speaks, “I don’t remember much from my… from when I was captured. It’s clearest in my dreams, like I’m back there again. Once I’m awake there’s only bits and pieces left, never enough to make any sense out of them.

“For months we tried anything we could in hopes that I would remember something, because it just… I don’t know what happened.” He lifts his gaze, meeting Keith’s with desperation, “One day I was there, then the next I was back here. All I can remember in between is someone saying my name.”

“Does it really matter if you remember what happened?” Keith asks softly, “I mean, you’re here. You’re safe. Does the ‘how’ matter?”

“I guess not.” Shiro answers, “I’d like to thank them, though.” There’s a flit of something in Keith’s eyes, something that Shiro can’t quite place and then it’s gone in a blink.

“It’s late.” Keith says instead, diverting the conversation, “Do you think you could sleep? I can stay up with you if you want.”

“No, that’s fine.” The last dregs of his nightmare had run dry, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. “Sleep would be good. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Keith’s hand brushes against his shoulder, lips turned up in a smile as he repeats, “We’re a team, Shiro. No apologies needed.” He settles back down in the bed and Shiro follows suit, staring at Keith’s back even as his eyes grow heavy once more.

It’s only when he’s at the brink of unconsciousness that he realizes Keith had called him by his first name — just like the voice in his dreams.

—

Something shifts that night. Shiro had expected pity following from it, the same frustrating pity that had been constantly lurking behind him since the day he returned from Gal a broken man, yet there’s not a single trace of it to be found from Keith. Instead of widening the rift between them it actually seems to strengthen their relationship and it’s a bigger relief than Shiro could have imagined. Keith had been aloof and standoffish from the moment they had been introduced, a hurdle that Shiro hadn’t been sure they would be able to overcome, but there was something softer about him now. He would look at Shiro rather than through him, his lips breaking from their usual scowl to a gentle smile and there was something achingly familiar about it.

With his squadron stationed at the capitol for the foreseeable future Shiro finds himself with ample time to spend with his husband. Behind the carefully crafted mask of indifference that Keith had arrived with was a laugh that made Shiro’s heart skip a beat and a smile that threatened to blind him.

Keith starts to accompany him on his free time, taking their lunches together in the gardens after an hour or so of sparring, or taking their horses out for a ride before dinner. It’s easy, being with Keith, and the more time Shiro spends with him the more he wants to get to know him — the real him, not the carefully crafted facade.

It doesn’t take long to realize that the Keith he had known up until now had been just that. Not once he knows that a real smile causes his cheeks to dimple just beneath the purple marks on his cheeks and that his real laugh bubbles out of him like a geyser. Keith had been a beauty from the day he arrived and now that he’s slowly emerging from his shell it only makes him all the more stunning. Just looking at him twists something in Shiro’s chest, a twinge of want so unfamiliar to the prince that he almost doesn’t dare to acknowledge it.

It’s become second nature for them to walk side by side, close enough that their arms just barely brush together and as they leave from breakfast Shiro has to keep himself from tangling their fingers together. Keith bumps their shoulders together instead, drawing the prince’s attention as he asks, “Any plans for today?”

“Unfortunately.” Shiro answers with an exaggerated sigh that makes Keith chuckle, “Ryou’s asked me to join him for the morning, which means being stuck in a meeting room for gods only know how many hours. I’ll try to get out by lunchtime so we can have our meal together.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Keith says easily, “His Majesty wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important, and I can entertain myself well enough. Besides, I can always go bother Pidge. Come find me whenever you’re done and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“You’re too good to me.” Shiro teases and when Keith grins up at him he’s struck by the sudden urge to kiss the cocky smile from his face. It’s not the first time he’s had such an impulse but the way his heart stutters doesn’t ease no matter how many times it’s been. Still, he dares not to act upon it, instead breaking away from Keith’s side when it’s time for their paths to split, “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where to find me.”

—

It was barely even midday, yet it was already hotter than the previous ones and as a result Keith found himself headed towards the workshop. As much as he enjoyed the solitude of the gardens, there was just enough of a breeze in the shop to keep the space from being unbearable. Pidge just barely looks up from her work, a large metal gauntlet that almost resembled a bulkier version of Shiro’s prosthetic arm.

“No Shiro today?” She asks, though her eyes have already returned to their work.

“His Majesty needed him for something today.” Keith answers as he settles into one of the extra chairs, looking up only when he hears Pidge snort under her breath, “What?”

“‘His Majesty.’” Pidge mimics, a sly grin covering her face, “Please, Keith. I get calling him that in public, but here? You were friends, call him by his name.”

“Were.” Keith quickly pointed out, forehead creasing as he frowned, “It was a long time ago. Besides, I always-” He cut himself off abruptly, his frown morphing into an almost grimace and when he finally speaks it’s barely loud enough for Pidge to hear, “I always only wanted to play with Shiro.”

“Aww.” Pidge coos, “Did baby Keith have a crush on Takashi?” Though the question is little more than a joke, the way Keith shifts his eyes away, shoulders tensed and face red, is all too real. “Wait, wait- you did!?” She drops her work to the table and leans across it, smile now splitting her face in half, “You liked him!”

“Could we not do this?” Keith asks, still refusing to meet her eyes no matter how much she tries, “I really don’t want to do this.”

“That’s so cute!” Pidge continues, sliding off of the table to crowd around Keith’s chair instead, pulling her own up next to him, “Did he know?”

“I am not talking about this.” Keith answers firmly, finally dragging his gaze up to meet hers, “Conversation over.”

“Keith, come on! I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Just you and me.”

Keith huffed out a sigh, “He didn’t. He never will. End of story.” Pidge is silent for a long moment, and Keith can see the realization as it washes over her, “You cannot tell anyone.”

“You _love_ him.”

—

The morning’s meetings had been blessedly short, the last of Shiro’s generals returning from their surveys and reporting in their findings. There’s plenty of work to be done, at least half a dozen towns in need of serious repairs, but compared to the toils of war that had caused it this was a welcomed change. It’s just past lunchtime when they break, and though both Ryou and several of his men ask him to join them for the meal, Shiro politely declines all of them.

It’s not too hard to guess where he would find Keith, and so Shiro heads for the workshop with a bounce in his step and a smile on his lips. Though it’s not the first time he’d ask Keith to a private meal, there’s still an excitement that thrums through his veins at the thought of it. Shiro hadn’t dared to ask for anything more than a friend in his husband, yet over the past few days he had started to realize that his feelings were quickly veering out of the range of friendship.

But really, how could they not? Keith looked at him as though he was whole, as more than the broken mess that had been sent back from Gal. There was no pity lingering in his gaze, no words that made Shiro feel as though he was less than what he used to be. For as much as his friends and family had supported him, there was something different about it when it came to Keith. Something special.

Shiro’s humming a soft tune by the time he reaches the workshop, a speech already prepared in his head. The door is open just a hair, but he raises his hand to knock anyways.

“You _love_ him.” Pidge’s voice was soft yet sure, and the words make Shiro freeze in front of the barely opened door. Though his hand was still poised in the air he couldn’t quite bring himself to move it, a mixture of dread and curiosity brewing in his gut.

“And so what if I do?” Keith says back, barely loud enough for Shiro to hear, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Does he know?” Silence, and then, “Gods, Keith, he doesn’t even know? You never thought to tell him?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Keith repeated, more defensively this time, “It wouldn’t change anything, so why should I?”

Outside the door, Shiro stood stock-still, ice running through his veins as his brain slowly processed the new information. Keith… Keith was in love with someone. Keith, his _husband_ , loved someone. Someone that, no matter how much he wished it, could never be Shiro. He had just barely come to terms with the idea that he felt _something_ towards Keith, and already the possibility of anything coming from it was ripped away from him.

He stumbled away from the door, his mind racing. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known that Keith had only married him for political reasons. And it was foolish to think that Keith hadn’t had someone he had cared about back in his homeland, yet the thought had never even occurred to him. Keith had been nothing but understanding and considerate towards him these past few weeks, but in his heart he wanted someone else.

Shiro couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Back in the workshop, Pidge’s face softened, “You need to tell him.”

“No, I don’t.” Keith shoots back immediately, “It’s fine like this. We’re friends. That’s more than I’ve had for years and I’m not about to ruin that.”

“But if you-”

“No, Pidge.” Keith interrupted, slamming his hands down on the table and leveling the girl with a harsh glare, “I’ve lost Shiro before, I’m not going to lose him again. Being his friend is enough. Living with him, and getting to be by his side is enough. I will not ask more of him than that, not when he was already forced to marry me. This conversation is over.”

“You’re making a mistake, Keith.” Pidge calls after him as he strides from the room, his hands clenched into fists and just barely shaking at his sides. He paused, for the briefest of moments, before pushing open the ajar door and vanishing from view.

—

Shiro keeps himself occupied for the rest of the day in the best way he knows how; training and sparring with the spare troops left at the castle. It’s the first time in fourteen years that they’ve had more than just the castle’s soldiers and new recruits living out of the barracks and the training yard is more lively than ever as a result. He had spent months here after returning to Shirai, slowly relearning how to fight with his newly crafted arm. Back then, his goal had been to convince Ryou he was well enough to return to the war but fate had had other plans for him.

He was fine with it, really. Marrying Keith had ended the war that had taken so much from him, had done what he and his soldiers had never managed to accomplish. It was fine, marrying Keith.

Except for the part where he might actually have developed feelings for Keith, who already had feelings for someone else.

Shiro brings his sword down hard on a straw dummy, slicing it cleanly in half to the scattered applause of the trainees gathered to watch him. The weight of his sword in his hands is grounding, pulling him back to the moment.

As much as he didn’t want to, he knew he was going to have to talk to his husband. What he would say was beyond him, but Shiro couldn’t go on pretending as though he’d never overheard today’s conversation. If Keith loved someone Shiro had to give him his blessing. Even if that meant giving up their own marriage.

It wouldn’t be easy, not with all of the politics tied up in their union. The marriage between Shirai and Gal was a symbol of their newfound peace, there would be an uproar from both sides should either try to dissolve it. It could even start the war anew, which was the last thing they needed. But for Keith and for his love, Shiro would risk it.

It was only when his muscles ached and his shirt clung to his sweat-dampened skin that he sheathed his sword at his belt, and he must have looked as miserable as he felt as he made the familiar trek to Ryou’s office. Foregoing any pretense of politeness he entered the room without so much as a knock, quickly drawing the attention of the two already inside.

“How kind of you to join us, Takashi.” Ryou eyed his brother up and down from behind his desk, his mouth tightening into a frown before turning back to Sam, “Would you mind continuing this a little later, Sam? My attention is needed elsewhere currently.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Sam answered, quickly tidying up the papers strewn across the king’s desk and gathering them in his arms, “You know where to find me.”

It was only once his adviser was gone that Ryou slumped back in his seat, gesturing for Shiro to take the one across from him, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks for noticing.” Shiro said wryly, sinking into the chair. He was silent for a long moment, and Ryou didn’t push. Finally he sighed, a long, shuddering sound before speaking, “We need to dissolve my marriage.”

The bug-eyed look on Ryou’s face would have been hilarious on any other occasion, but as it stood now Shiro couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Not when his heart was no more than a lead ball weighing down his chest. “You had better have a good fucking explanation for even asking me that. You agreed to this, Takashi.”

“I know.” Shiro slumped forward, his elbows propped up on his knees, face cradled in his hands, “It’s for Keith.”

“I can’t do anything Takashi, you know that.” Ryou said, leveling his brother with a stare, “Keith agreed to this just like you did and it’s too late to go back now.”

“Keith’s in love with someone, Ryou. I can’t take that from him. I can’t keep him tied to me in misery when there’s someone out there who would make him happy.”

“For fuck’s sake, Takashi.” Ryou groaned, “Have you even talked to Keith about this?”

“I’m going to, after dinner.” Shiro mumbled against his palms, “I thought I should tell you first.”

Ryou exhaled loudly, thumbs rubbing at his temples in a desperate attempt to soothe the oncoming headache. “I’ll talk to Sam about it, but don’t expect much. Your marriage is the only reason Gal isn’t marching down our borders at this very second, you know that right?”

 

Shiro was strangely quiet during dinner that night, his movements stiff in a way that Keith had never seen from him before. He nearly asked about it half a dozen times, words on the tip of his tongue, only for them to never pass his lips. Though their nightly dinners consisted only of a handful of people, most of them having known Shiro his whole life, Keith knew well enough that Shiro wouldn’t want to air his troubles in front of them. The sanctuary of their room would serve far better, it just meant ignoring Pidge’s pointed stares from across the table.

In the end, Shiro ate no more than a few bites off of his plate and quietly excused himself long before anyone else. It would be far too suspicious for Keith to leave too so he continued to shovel the food around his plate, taking an occasional bite regardless of his lack of appetite. There was a dread coiling in his stomach that made the food taste like no more than ash in his mouth. When he’d last spoken to Shiro that morning his husband had been his normal self, so what had changed?

“I know.” Shiro sighs, “Gods this all just got so fucked up.”

—

Shiro was strangely quiet during dinner that night, his movements stiff in a way that Keith had never seen from him before. He nearly asked about it half a dozen times, words on the tip of his tongue, only for them to never pass his lips. Though their nightly dinners consisted only of a handful of people, most of them having known Shiro his whole life, Keith knew well enough that Shiro wouldn’t want to air his troubles in front of them. The sanctuary of their room would serve far better, it just meant ignoring Pidge’s pointed stares from across the table.

In the end, Shiro ate no more than a few bites off of his plate and quietly excused himself long before anyone else. It would be far too suspicious for Keith to leave too so he continues to shovel the food around his plate, taking an occasional bite regardless of his lack of appetite. There was a dread coiling in his stomach that made the food taste like no more than ash in his mouth. When he’d last spoken to Shiro that morning his husband had been his normal self, they had even made plans to get together in the afternoon. Instead this was the first Keith had seen of him, a quiet, hollow shell of his usual self.

Had the meetings gone poorly? Ryou looked strained as well, his lips drawn tight even as Matt shared an anecdote that had the rest of the table holding their sides with laughter. If that was the case, would Shiro even share his worries with him? He was the prince’s consort in nothing more than words, who knew if matters of the kingdom would be divulged to an outsider like him. The thought had Keith pushing his plate away, not even half of its contents gone.

It’s agonizing, waiting through the rest of the meal with his gut twisted into knots. Ryou meets his gaze occasionally, his eyes cold and even though Keith can’t think of anything he had done he still can’t help but worry. He makes it halfway through dessert before he can’t take it anymore and, with a mumbled apology, excuses himself.

Their room is dark when Keith finally returns, only a single candle flickering on one of the bedside tables. Next to it was Shiro, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring off into one of the dark corners. He didn’t say so much as a word to Keith when he entered, though the increased tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Ignoring the twinge in his chest, Keith set about lighting candles until the room was bathed in their glow and only then did he turn towards his husband, “Are you feeling alright? You barely touched your dinner.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Shiro answered softly, but the words were of little comfort. Not when it was clear that he didn’t mean them.

“If there’s something bothering you I’m always here to listen.” Keith offered slowly, taking a seat on the bedside beside his husband and gently placing his hand over Shiro’s metal one where it rested on the bed. The warmth of the touch lasted no longer than a millisecond before Shiro was pulling away, prosthetic clutched to his chest defensively.

“I heard you talking to Pidge today.” The words spill from Shiro’s lips in a heartbeat, and it is in that heartbeat that Keith’s stops.

He had talked about plenty of things with Pidge today, but there was only one that could cause Shiro to flinch away from him. The one that Shiro was never supposed to hear. Suddenly Keith wishes he hadn’t wasted all that time lighting the room — he wasn’t sure if he could bear the look that would be on Shiro’s face when he rejected him.

“I’ve already brought the matter to Ryou’s attention.” Shiro continues, rising from his seat and pointedly not looking at Keith “It will take time and a number of discussions with King Lotor, but he’s agreed to try to find a way to dissolve our marriage.”

Keith felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him, every inch of him frozen in terror. Because of all of the reactions he had imagined coming from Shiro discovering his feelings, destroying their union had never been one of them. He’d never even considered the possibility that Shiro would be so utterly disgusted with him that he’d risk the tentative peace that had only just been made.

_War is better than being loved by you_ , a voice inside of his head mocks, _He would rather fight and be killed than to spend his life beside you._

“I understand.” It took every ounce of Keith’s strength to keep his voice from wavering as he stood from their bed (no, not theirs, not anymore). He didn’t dare to look over at Shiro, terrified of what he would see if he did. Keith was painfully familiar with being looked at with hatred, had long since grown accustomed to it but even just the thought of Shiro being the one to look at him like that was like a dagger to his gut. So he kept his gaze averted as he spoke “I… will find myself other accommodations. Excuse me.”

Keith had never been one to run away, not even when all of the cards were stacked against him, but now that was exactly what he did. Hurried footsteps carry him from the room, each one taking him further and further away from the only person he had ever loved. Though there were several empty bedrooms just down the hall, he walked past all of them without hesitation. He already knew there would be no sleep for him tonight, so why even bother?

He was out of breath by the time he reached the eastern courtyard, his lungs heaving for air as he slumped down against the castle’s east wall. The chill of night was beginning to set in, yet he felt none of it despite how lightly he was dressed.

_It’s what you deserve,_ the voice mocks, _From the very beginning you lied to him, and you expected him to what, fall in love with you? Impossible._

It was. Someone like Shiro, who had been through hell and back yet still smiled brighter than the sun, deserved far more than a traitorous Galra. He deserved someone fit to stand beside him, someone who was kind and giving, someone that didn’t keep secrets hidden away inside of them. And Keith… Keith wasn’t that person.

Never before in his life had there been a moment when Keith gave up. For every ‘no’ he was told he found a way around it, from sneaking late night snacks as a boy to breaking free his uncle’s most valuable prisoner. Nothing had stopped him before but now, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shiro didn’t want him?

Everything that he had ever done had been with his Takashi in mind. There was no point in trying anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

_Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart_  
_Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent_

_—_

“You wish to annul the marriage.” Lotor’s voice was low and drawn out, incredulous almost, and even through the haze of the mirror Keith could feel his eyes boring into him, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that I was still dreaming. If that’s the case then I suppose I might as well go back to bed because there’s no way you could possibly ask me for such a thing in broad daylight.”

“Lotor please. I know it’s not ideal, but-”

“Not ideal?” Lotor echoed, his eyes narrowing as he stared down his cousin from hundreds of miles away, “My father’s generals are chomping at the bit to get back to war and the only thing stopping them is your marriage. If it fails, so does our chances at peace. You knew this, Keith. There is no backing out now.”

“It’s what he wants.” There was resignation in Keith’s words when he spoke, an inherent sadness to it that could only be birthed by heartache. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise. He has already spoken to King Ryou about it.” A grimace was stretched across his face and he didn’t dare to meet Lotor’s gaze, not even as hazy as it was with magic between them. “He _knows_ , Lotor.”

“Knows what?” Lotor asks, “That you used to be friends? That you’re in love with him? That you betrayed your own people just to free him? I fail to see how any of those things would result in him turning you away.” It’s the first time either of them put voice to Keith’s role in Shiro’s escape, though Keith had long suspected that Lotor had always known. But any comfort he might have found in the knowledge was stripped bare by the circumstances it was said in.

“You don’t understand.” Keith says.

“Clearly I don’t, because only a fool would understand whatever preposterous reasoning you’ve come up with.” Lotor let out a shuddering sigh, cradling his head in one hand as he stares off into a distance that Keith can’t see. When he finally speaks there’s something almost gentle to his voice, “I’m sorry Keith, my hands are tied. I’m willing to speak to King Ryou about it but there’s really nothing I can do.”

Keith nodded, the visage of his cousin vanishing from the air. He had known well enough what Lotor’s answer would be, knew that there really was no way to end the marriage without ending their tentative peace as well. Keith would have been fine separating from his husband but continuing to live in the Shirai castle to keep up appearances, but it looked as though that wasn’t going to be enough.

His stomach grumbled loudly, a reminder that he had skipped breakfast that morning. He had made it halfway to the dining hall before it dawned on him that Shiro had probably told all of them, that he probably wasn’t wanted there anymore. Dinner last night had been tense enough, and now that his dirty secret was out it would only get worse. Keith could pilfer some leftovers from the kitchen during the lull between meals and no one would even notice.

There was still the matter of finding himself a new room as well. It would be presumptuous of him to assume he still had any right to reside in the royal wing, let alone the same floor as the king and prince. Still, if he moved too far it would arouse suspicions from the rest of the castle’s inhabitants and that wouldn’t do either. The more he thought about it, the more Keith was realizing that there would be no easy solution to all of this. But Shiro’s rejection last night had been clear and that was the one thing that Keith would honor above all others.

He groaned, flopping backwards onto the dirt and staring up at the cloudless sky. It seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful day hiding in the rose gardens, but it was one of only a few places that he knew of where others would be hard-pressed to find him. He still clutched his small mirror in one hand, the smooth disk returned to nothing but a simple object now that the druid magic infused into it was no longer active.

“Maybe I’ll live here.” Keith mumbles to himself. The flowers, after all, thought no different of him. It would be a pain when the weather wasn’t so nice, but he suspected that he would be long gone before the warm summer days shifted into breezy autumn ones.

It was a shame. For the first time in years he had finally been making a place that he could call home, and all it took was one stupid conversation to ruin it. He had found a friend in Pidge and, by extension, Hunk and Lance. Shiro thought of him as a friend as well, and no matter how much Keith may have wanted more he had been content to live with just that.

And all of it was gone now. No more early morning runs with Shiro, or afternoons tucked away in the quiet of the workshop. No more family meals or late night talks. It had never been in Keith’s nature to be pessimistic, but as he stared up at the cloudless sky he couldn’t help but hate it all.

—

“So, Shiro…” There’s nothing good about Matt’s tone of voice as he trails after his friend from a considerably awkward breakfast, “Busy night last night?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Shiro answers, hoping, admittedly futilely, that it would be enough to close the matter.

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed!” Matt continues, nudging Shiro in the side with his elbow, “You’re already married, after all.”

This was the last conversation Shiro wanted to be having, his heart still sitting heavy in his chest from the previous night’s revelations. Today was the first day he’d woken alone since the late night heart-to-heart they’d had after his nightmare almost two weeks ago and it was lonelier than he could have imagined. Though they never occupied the same space having Keith in his bed had been soothing in ways that he had never expected, and now being without was jarring.

“It’s not like that.” Shiro eventually confesses, because regardless of how little he wanted to be talking about this he had known Matt for long enough to know that his friend wouldn’t be letting the matter drop, “I don’t even know where he is. I overheard him and Pidge talking yesterday, and I wasn’t supposed to. He’s—” Shiro stops, glancing back over his shoulder to check for anyone who might over hear. When he continues, it’s no more than a whisper, “He’s in love with someone, Matt. Someone from Gal. And I can’t make him stay here if that’s how he feels so I… I talked to Ryou about annulling the marriage.”

Matt stares at him, mouth open and brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to process the information. After a long moment he exhales, pressing his palms together as he speaks, “Shiro, as your friend, I am going to be completely honest with you.” He paused, for effect, “You. Are a fucking. Idiot.”

“Matt-”

“No, no. Don’t you ‘Matt’ me. In fact, I don’t want you saying my name until you fucking fix this.”

“Fix what?” Shiro asks exasperatedly, “There’s nothing to fix! I can’t ‘fix’ the way he feels, I can’t ask him to— to what, feel that way about me instead? That’s not how feelings work!”

“That boy looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky and you honestly think he’s in love with someone else?” Matt groans, “You know what, no, I can’t deal with this right now. I was going to be the good friend and listen about how you finally banged your husband, not about how you broke up with him instead. Nope. No. Not doing it. You get to deal with this on your own.”

—

“Pidge!” The sudden shout of her name, accompanied by the boom of the door being thrown open, makes Pidge’s hands jerk and she can only watch in horror as the small mechanism she’s spent the past day working on falls to the table and breaks into pieces. Beside her Lance winces, slowly starting to scoot his chair away from her and what will soon be a warzone. Hunk is at the smaller table and pointedly doesn’t over.

Matt doesn’t seem to notice any of this, however, closing the workshop’s door behind him as he speaks, “Pidge, you are not gonna believe this.”

“I can believe I’m going to kick your ass if this isn’t important.” Pidge hisses, still staring forlornly at the remains of the mechanism she’d been working on.

“Oh it is. And you started it.” It’s only then that Pidge looks up, meeting her brother’s gaze across the room. There’s an unfamiliar seriousness to Matt’s eyes, and to the way his mouth is downturned into a harsh frown. “Shiro and I just had a chat. Seems he heard yesterday that Keith’s in love with someone and, gods only know why, thought that the best course of action was to immediately try to annul their marriage.”

“Mullet’s in love?” Lance all but screeches, hands slamming down on the table, “That two-timing son of a bitch! Doesn’t he know he’s married?”

“He- he can’t do that though, right?” Hunk interjects nervously, “That’d be like ripping the entire treaty into pieces and that would be _bad_.”

“Okay, hold on, hold on.” There’s a frown on Pidge’s face to match her brother’s, “Keith’s in love with Shiro.”

Lance lets out another unholy shriek, earning him a smack on the arm from Pidge, “Mullet’s in love with _Shiro_?”

“See, that’s what I said.” Matt continues, “Shiro insists otherwise. Says he overheard you two talking here about it.”

Pidge groans, “We were talking about _Shiro_.”

“Wait, so, why don’t we just have Keith tell him?” Hunk asks, glancing between his friends.

“Keith refuses.” Pidge answers, at the same time that Matt says, “We don’t know where he is.”

Every eye is on Matt in an instant. “What do you mean we don’t know where he is?” Hunk asks, a waver in his voice, “He’s not gone, right? Please tell me he’s not gone.”

“He’s probably not gone.” Matt answers, though the words seem to do little to calm Hunk down, “I mean it’s Keith, he wouldn’t just leave. He’s somewhere in the castle. Shiro just doesn’t know where and I doubt anyone’s really looked.”

“This is a mess.” Pidge moans, “If he just listened to me then none of this would be happening but why listen to me? It’s not like I’m in a moderately successful relationship!”

“Hey!” Lance interjects, elbowing her in the side, “Don’t go taking this out on me just because Mullet can’t talk like a normal person.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She mumbles, leaning into him.

“So what do we do?” Hunk asks, “We can’t just let this happen.”

“Oh no.” Matt seethes, “I spent far too many years listening to ‘Keith this’ and ‘Keith that’ to let Shiro fuck it all up now.”

—

It is hunger that inevitably does him in. For all of Keith’s years of practice slipping to and from the Galran kitchens unseen, said practice truly only works if there’s no one around who cares enough to look. No one back in Gal had ever looked at him as anything more than the bastard lord, had never bothered enough to see him. It had come in handy for sneaking late night snacks, so long as his mother didn’t find out, and Keith had thought that it would keep him fed enough here until whenever he was sent back to his homeland.

He hadn’t dared to attend a family meal since that last dinner three nights ago, and the chances of them missing him were slim. They were likely all aware of what had transpired and Keith hadn’t the heart to possibly be turned away. Sneaking leftovers from the kitchens was far easier once he had figured out the best times to find the rooms empty. There was always a lull between meals when the chefs and assistants got to take their own meals, leaving the kitchens free for Keith to pilfer.

Keith is just in the process of wrapping up a loaf of bread when the door behind him squeaks open. He turns, an excuse on the tip of his tongue, but instead of being faced with one of the servants it is instead a surprised Hunk that greets him.

Oh. Oh shit.

—

The warm summer sun was oddly cathartic as it poured through the large windows of Pidge’s workshop and Lance was almost tempted to curl up for a nap in it. It might have seemed like a waste, spending his last few days at home sleeping instead of actually spending time with his friends but with Pidge tinkering away at her newest something-or-another and Hunk gone off to the kitchens it wasn’t as though he would be missing out on much of anything.

He leans back in his chair, head falling back until his eyes are staring up at the ceiling and then, slowly, they drift shut. It’s peaceful - at least for a minute, before there’s the unmistakable sound of bickering outside. Not even a moment later the workshop’s door slams open, and the second Lance’s eyes snap open he doubles over in laughter at the sight before him.

Keith, thrown over Hunk’s shoulder like a damsel in distress, with his face as red as a tomato. “So, uh, I found this in the kitchens.” Hunk starts, sending Lance into another peal of laughs. Beside him Pidge puts down the gauntlet she had been tinkering with for the past few weeks, her mouth drawn in a tight line as Keith is deposited into a nearby chair.

“You need to talk to Shiro.” Pidge says, staring at Keith pointedly, though he refuses to meet the gaze.

“That’s what you said last time, and look where we are now.” Keith was curt, abrupt in a way that he hadn’t been since finally settling into his new life only a couple of weeks ago.

“Did you really though?” She refutes, a single eyebrow cocked above her glasses, “Or did you just let him talk without actually saying anything yourself? Stop being a child and talk to your husband.”

Keith’s eyes narrow, “There is nothing to talk about. He made himself perfectly clear and I have no inclination to hear him tell me how much he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want me. Once was more than enough.”

“Man, can you listen for two seconds?” There’s an unfamiliar frown on Hunk’s face, “We’re trying to help here.”

“I don’t need your help!” Keith exclaims, “I never asked for anyone’s help! I was fine being his friend. So long as I could be here, with him instead of back in that fucking hellhole, I was fine. But I don’t even have that now. Shiro hates me-”

“Shiro does not hate you.” Pidge interrupts with an exasperated exhale, “He doesn’t know who we were talking about. He thinks you’re still in love with someone back in Gal, he doesn’t know it’s him.”

Keith’s heart clenches in his chest, a conglomeration of the fear that had long since taken up residence there with just the tiniest flicker of hope; the most he had felt it days. He squashes it immediately, dousing it before it could erupt into a flame because that could only lead to pain. Hope had been a thorn in him for far too long now, it was better to dig it out at the source rather than letting it fester inside of him.

“And when he does know it’s him?” He asks, “When he knows I’ve spent these past few months lying to his face? It won’t change anything.”

“You don’t know that. It could change everything.” Pidge retorts, “I don’t know what kind of person you think Shiro is, but he doesn’t hate much of anything. He didn’t hate you when he married you and he doesn’t hate you now.”

“He doesn’t even know me.” Keith says, and if his voice is a little lighter it’s certainly not because of some kind of stupid _hope_. The ‘he doesn’t know what I’ve done’ goes unspoken, because even if these are people he might have started to consider friends they still can never know of his guilt. Here, perhaps, it could have been an honor to be known as the one who freed Shiro from his imprisonment, but if word got out to Gal? Keith was nothing but a traitor.

And a traitor’s marriage did not make peace.

“Look,” Lance started, still leaning back in his chair as casually as he had been before Hunk had carried Keith in, “You love him. Either you don’t tell him and run back to Gal with your tail between your legs, or you do tell him and talk this out. Worst comes to worst you go home a failure and we go back to war. No big deal.”

“Lance, come on.” Hunk interrupts with a frown, “That’s not cool.”

“I’m just saying!” Lance shrugs, “If he’s not willing to talk to his own damn husband then we might as well get right back out there.”

Though it almost pains Keith to admit it, Lance did have a good point. War would be all but inevitable should he leave, and Shiro—

Shiro deserved better than that.

—

Shiro’s heart pounds in his chest as he hastens back to his chambers, every step bringing a new worry to the front of his mind. Keith had been avoiding him for days, ever since their conversation a few nights ago, and suddenly wanting to speak now had to mean that something had happened. And in the privacy of the prince’s quarters at that. What if Keith wanted to tell him about his lover? Shiro knew he had no right to feel jealous, not when Keith had never truly been his, but that still didn’t quell the emotions threatening to bubble out of him.

The sun spilling in from the windows was all that lit the room, casting a shadow over Keith’s face where he sat in front of the unlit fireplace. Keith looked up at the sound of the door and it’s only then that Shiro can see his eyes. They’re guarded, much like they were those long, tense days before their wedding. It hurts more than expected.

Keith rises from his armchair, his hands clasped in front of him, “Forgive me, for calling you here so suddenly but we… there are some things I need to speak to you about. Things that I should have told you long ago.” He sits back down only when Shiro takes the chair opposite of him, worrying his hands where they rested in his lap.

“I haven’t been entirely truthful since I’ve been here.” Keith admits, looking anywhere but at Shiro’s face and though the words - the _implications_ \- make his heart clench, Shiro forces himself to smile. Keith’s happiness was what was important, no matter how it hurt him. And it certainly would hurt, hearing the words from his husband’s own mouth rather than from behind the relative safety of a heavy wooden door.

“It’s okay, Keith. I understand.”

Keith purses his lips, shaking his head and still refusing to look at his husband, “No, you don’t Shiro. I was _happy_ when Lotor told me about our marriage. I hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t talked to you in far longer and I thought that… finally things could be like how they used to be.”

That… hadn’t been what Shiro was expecting. He wet his lower lip with his tongue, asking slowly “What do you mean? We had never met before this.”

“We did.” Keith almost seemed to curl in on himself in the plush armchair, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed, “You just don’t remember. Before the war we were friends. Your father would bring the two of you to Gal with him when he had business with Zarkon. We didn’t see each other often, but we were friends. Good friends. My only friend.” The last part is so soft Shiro almost misses it, and there’s an ache in his chest that only grows as he realizes what this meant during their early relationship. He had thought Keith had been cold and distant towards him due to the suddenness of their marriage, from being forced to marry someone he didn’t even know. Instead it had been the opposite, and Shiro was the only one who didn’t know.

“I… I had no idea.” Shiro admitted softly, “I’m so sorry Keith.”

“It’s not your fault. I would forget me too.” Keith says with a shrug, his eyes still firmly averted from Shiro and instead fixated on the empty fireplace, “Besides, my people gave you plenty of reasons to want to forget. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me after all of that.” It’s only then that he drags his eyes up, indigo meeting gray and though there’s a smile on his face it’s a painfully bitter one, “I should have gotten you out long before they took your arm but I didn’t. I _couldn’t_. I was too weak.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. Sorry you got stuck with such a lousy excuse of a husband, sorry I’m not good enough, sorry-” Keith pauses, inhales, and when he speaks again his words are laced with pain and regret, “Sorry that I’m in love with you.”

The room is silent, except for the sudden pounding in his ears that Shiro realizes, belatedly, is his own frantic heartbeat. It’s all he can hear and he can’t… he doesn’t understand. Keith can’t be in love with him, it just doesn’t make sense, yet—

“I’ll stay out of your way from now on, until Lotor and His Majesty figure out a way to annul the marriage.” There’s something akin to resignation in Keith’s voice and his eyes have shifted away from Shiro once more, “Then I’ll go back to Gal and you won’t be bothered by me again.”

“Wait, Keith. _Keith._ ” Shiro’s eyebrows are furrowed and he leans forward in his chair, as though those extra couple of inches would explain everything, and though there are a thousand questions racing through Shiro’s mind he can only put voice to one of them, “You love me?”

Keith nods. He’s staring firmly at his boots and his posture is tense — _defeated_. His shoulders only tighten when Shiro speaks, “Keith, look at me. Please?”

He doesn’t want to, Gods know he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to face rejection head on but it’s the least he can do for Shiro. Shiro who deserves the moon and the stars and got stuck with Keith instead. He looks up.

“You’re in love… with me?” Shiro asks again, confused, and Keith… Keith doesn’t understand. Wasn’t that what Shiro was upset about in the first place? All Keith had done was admit to his guilt yet Shiro was looking at him like he was something precious. It was cruel, too cruel for Shiro to look at him like that while only seconds away from breaking his heart.

Their chairs were no more than a few feet from each other, yet the distance seemed insurmountable as Shiro slowly closed the space between them with sure and steady steps, approaching Keith akin to the way one would approach a cornered animal. As soon as he’s close enough Shiro reaches down to cup Keith’s face, a gentle hand on each side, his thumbs running over the purple marks on his cheeks and when he speaks it’s in a reverent whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

Keith doesn’t answer, _can’t answer_ , because in just a fraction of a second he’s pushed himself upwards, catching Shiro’s lips with his own. None of this makes sense but he can’t stop himself. If it’s a joke then it’s a cruel one, but not even that knowledge could compel Keith to pull away. Kissing Shiro is like a summer storm after weeks of drought, it is everything he had ever dreamed of and more and if this would be the only chance he’d get then Keith would take every second of it without question. If this was all that Shiro was willing to give, then so be it.

Shiro is the one who eventually draws back, and though Keith surges forward, desperate for their lips to meet once more, just _once_ , the prince instead pulls him into a tight hug. It’s foreign, the way he’s held like something precious and though Keith is still waiting for the other shoe to drop he can’t help but sink into the embrace all the same. Soon it will come crashing down, but he’ll take what he can get.

“When I heard you and Pidge talking last week, I had assumed your feelings were for someone from your home. Someone that you had had a history with, that you had left him in order to marry me.” Shiro buries his face into the crook of Keith’s neck and makes a muffled sound that Keith belatedly realizes is laughter. Shiro was _laughing_. “I can’t believe I was jealous over myself.”

This is sounding less and less like some sort of cruel joke, less like Keith’s heart is about to be ripped from his chest and more like something real. But it couldn’t be real… could it? It’s then that Shiro pulls away, but only far enough so that their eyes can meet, their foreheads pressed together and the unfamiliar intimacy of it is overpowering. There’s no cruelty in Shiro’s smile, no malice in his touch and Keith-

“You wanted to annul the marriage because you thought I didn’t love you, not because you knew that I did.” Keith’s voice is awestruck, the slightest of trembles in his words because this was _real_.

“If I had known you were in love with me I wouldn’t have waited until now to kiss you.” Shiro says and it’s all the permission Keith needs to rock up onto his toes and press their lips together once more. It’s softer this time, _sweeter_ — lacking the desperation and fervor of the one that came before it. There’s no rush, no need to memorize the way it feels or tastes, no ache in his chest that this was all he would ever get.

This was everything he had ever wanted, and now that it was his, nothing in the world could make him give it up.

They both miss dinner that night, wrapped up and lost in each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing. When they go to breakfast the following morning it’s with their hands linked and matching smiles on their faces.

_—_

_All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain_  
_All is lost, hope remains, and this war's not over_  
_There's a light, there's the sun, taking all shattered ones_  
_To the place we belong, and his love will conquer all_

 


	4. Epilogue

Eight months. It’s been eight months since General Sendak’s squad had made an unexpected return from battle to deliver a prize to their king, eight months since the day Keith had set his eyes upon his long lost friend, battered, bruised and broken. Eight months that Takashi Shirogane had been held prisoner, alternating between being forced to fight for Zarkon’s entertainment and being tortured for information.

Eight months was far too long. Keith had wanted to barge into the dungeon that very first day, had been willing to fight any and everyone that crossed his path and he would have done just that if there had been any chance of them actually escaping. But Keith had long since fallen out of favor with his tyrannical uncle and the rest of the court had already resented him from the day he was born. Lotor was the only tie he had left, and even the crown prince wouldn’t be able to excuse a prison break. Not when the prisoner in question was a prized conquest of war.

Keith had spent years questioning his mother’s sudden departure after the war had begun. Why she would leave her young son all alone after his father’s death with a single kiss to his forehead and a wrapped blade pressed into his small hands. It’s not until he sees Takashi bound and bleeding, teeth gritted with every lash doled out to his back, that Keith understands.

—

The dungeons beneath Gal’s expansive castle were a labyrinth of cells and passageways, each darker and dingier than the last. The more valued a prisoner was, the farther into the dungeons they would be. It would make sense then, that Takashi was locked away in the deepest part, brought out only for Zarkon’s amusement. To go in alone and unprepared would be pure suicide, which is why Keith seeks out the only hope he knows; a group of rebel fighters within Gal’s own borders — the very ones his mother had left him for.

Eight months pass slowly and painfully, and with every new scar that mars Takashi’s skin Keith’s resolve only grows. There is no loyalty to his country anymore, not when his country threatens the only person he has ever loved. Compared to Takashi, Gal was nothing.

It’s the day they take Takashi’s arm that Keith can wait no longer. Every bone in his body resonates with anger and the buzz of that sheer rage echoing through him was the most Galra he had ever felt in his life.

The Blades could only spare two of their other members for the daunting mission and it wouldn’t have been enough had Keith not spent the past eight months memorizing the pattern of every guard that walked the labyrinthine halls of the dungeons. Cloaked in the darkness they make their descent down into the pit, quickly and quietly dispatching any soldiers they came across and pushing on further and further until there’s nothing left in front of them but a thick iron door. There’s a small, barred window near the top that Keith can just barely peer through but only darkness fills the cell.

His fingers tremble as he thumbs through the ring of keys that he had pilfered off of one of the guard now unconscious and bleeding on the floor. There’s only one big enough to fit a door the size of the one in front of him and he fits it into the lock easily. It takes all three of them to force it inward once unlocked and Keith’s breath hitches in his throat as the torchlight finally illuminates the cell.

A thin layer of hay covers the dank stones of the floor with no other modicum of comfort for the figure laying prone upon it. A terrible stench floods Keith’s nose but he pays it no heed, ripping his mask off of his face as he crouches down. He had seen Takashi briefly over the past few months, but always from a distance, never even close enough to make out his face.

Takashi looks far more aged than he should, the skin under his eyes dark and his cheeks sallow. The spitting, burning anger that’s kept Keith going all of this time flickers away as he brushes Takashi’s unnaturally white forelock away from his sweat stained forehead. “Takashi.” Keith’s voice is no more than a whisper, his hands slowly working to prop up his friend off of the ground, shaking him just hard enough to rouse him from his fitful slumber. There’s a rush of relief when dull gray eyes slowly open and Keith continues, “Takashi we’re going to get you out of here. Can you stand?”

“Hurry.” Regris hisses from just outside the door, “The guards will be changing soon.”

“I’m going to help you, alright?” Keith says, draping Takashi’s left arm over his shoulders and slowly, painfully picking the both of them up off of the floor. Takashi is little more than a limp weight against his side, leaning on Keith more than holding himself up and yet somehow it’s the most comforting thing Keith has felt in years.

Finding their way out of the dungeons is a dreadfully slow endeavor with their barely conscious cargo in tow. Regris and Vrek go ahead, clearing the paths of any lingering Galran soldiers. In the dark passageways there’s nothing to mark the passing of time and Keith can only guess at how long they have until the next guard change.

It’s by some sort of miracle that they reach the exit without alerting anyone to their presence, the midnight air crisp and cold compared to the stuffiness of the dungeon. With a Galran cloak wrapped tightly around Takashi’s body Keith leads him to a waiting horse, hidden in a blind spot from the guards patrolling the parapets. Regris mounts easily, and Keith-

Keith had known it would come to this. That he would only get to spend the few terrifying minutes of their escape with Takashi before letting him go. He had wanted to be the one to take the crown prince back to Shirai himself, but his absence would go noticed immediately. There was no choice but for Keith to stay behind.

Together, he and Vrek lift Takashi up onto the horse. There’s no time for goodbyes, not if they want Regris to succeed in the rest of his mission and Takashi is barely conscious as is. For all the things Keith has been longing to say for so many years, not a single one is given voice. Instead he simply gives Takashi’s remaining hand a comforting squeeze before letting the fingers slip from his own. It’s better this way.

—

Keith wakes early, the first light of dawn spilling through the window opposite of the bed. It’s a habit left over from growing up during a war, yet he feels no need to heed his ingrained instincts and get up then and there. Not when there’s an arm slung over his waist, keeping him pulled close to the heavy warmth behind him. Shiro is still sleeping soundly, his breath hitting the back of Keith’s neck in hot puffs. The frequency of his nightmares had decreased dramatically once they starting spending the night entwined together rather than on opposite sides of the bed and it’s one of many blessings that Keith thanks the stars for.

Careful not to jostle his husband too much, Keith wiggles loose of his arm just enough to turn over and face him. It’s unfair, he thinks, how Shiro still looks so good even like this, hair mussed and mouth ajar, his chest rumbling with soft snores. It’s unfair, but it’s what Keith wakes up to every morning and he has never wanted anything more.

He still remembers how Shiro had looked that night in the dungeons, beaten and bloody and starved, with an arm that was no more than a stump and dirty, shaggy hair. It’s such a stark contrast from the man in front of him now, happy and healthy in Keith’s arms. Absently he reaches up with a hand, fingers tracing along the sharp curve of Shiro’s jaw, the touch feather-light so as not to wake him.

The hold on his waist tightens almost imperceptibly, fingertips pressing into the skin where they had slipped up underneath his nightshirt. Shiro groans as he blinks his eyes open, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Keith’s neck, “Wha’ time issit?”

“Still early, go back to sleep Takashi.” Keith answers softly, “I’ll wake you when it’s time to get up.”

Shiro grunts, “No, I’m up, I’m up.” He makes no move to get up, however, continuing to cling to Keith like a favorite toy. “Why’re you up so early?”

“Habit.” Keith presses a kiss into the mess of hair nestled against him, “Had a dream about you.”

“Yeah?” Shiro chuckles, finally pulling away to press a kiss of his own to Keith’s lips, “Was it a good one?”

“It has a happy ending.” Keith murmurs fondly, “That’s all that matters.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come scream with me about Sheith on tumblr, [@renrenners](https://renrenners.tumblr.com/)


End file.
